


Another Place, Another Time

by gentlearmor



Series: AU FFXV [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Implied Psychological Torture, No Beta, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape - implied, a lot of awful stuff, as someone said:, character tags only added when they show up, evidenced drugging, except iris, for now, forced marriage (discussed), forced pregnancy (discussed), heed my notes per chapter please!, implied physical torture, inferred child abuse, not when merely mentioned, rape - non-explicit but present, this isn't good for anyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2019-08-11 14:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 23
Words: 87,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16477109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlearmor/pseuds/gentlearmor
Summary: Eight years ago, the Prince of Lucis was ten years old.  Eight years ago, the Empire found a way to break Insomnia and throw it to its knees.  After eight years of demoralization, will things ever improve, or only get worse?This is the story of what would have happened had the Empire of Niflheim annexed Insomnia when there was no chance of Insomnia fighting back.





	1. The Shield

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Peekabloodyboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peekabloodyboo/gifts).



> For Peekabloodyboo, who asked to see more of this from Chapter 3 of the ‘Pain By Any Other Name’ #hurtnoctweek challenge… cluster.
> 
> The first chapters will be dedicated to a single character. I know y’all want our boi Prompto, and he’s incoming, I promise! But I got a story to weave here!

It had been eight years to the day since Insomnia fell, and he remembered it like yesterday.

Gladiolus Amicitia had been thirteen when the Empire’s spies shattered the apparatus atop the Citadel that transmitted King Regis’s powers up and out to form the Wall. He had been in school when that happened, and in the panic it generated, he escaped from the building to run for the elementary school where his little sister had been celebrating her first day of kindergarten. Their father had always been prepared for a day that the safety the king brought might fall, and trained them for as long as they could remember on what to do. The plan changed with Iris’s birth, but Gladio raised himself to the challenge.

When they were found by scouring Empire forces that same night, hiding in the small apartment Clarus had rented and kept secret between them so they could rendezvous there in an emergency, the soldiers told them that their father died.

A young woman was the one to deliver the news: one 20-year-old Aranea Highwind. She was a pretty woman, in Gladio’s perception, with cold eyes and white hair, but she spoke with a sedate cadence that seemed emotionless, but implored him to cooperate.

“The Empire has nothing against boys thirteen and younger, or women and children in general,” she told Gladio, occasionally glancing at the sobbing Iris in his lap. “Likewise, civilian men who swear fealty to the Emperor will be left alone. If you agree to cooperate and to serve the Empire with the same loyalty as you did the Lucii, you will be spared. You’ll even be able to join our armies in time. Ravus Nox Fleuret is already a member, and I can show you evidence that our word is true.”

“But what will happen to us? To our home?” Gladio asked. He wanted to do nothing more than cry over the loss of their father, so soon after their mother, but he stayed strong to such a degree that it would have made grown men impressed.

“Do as I’m saying, and you’ll maintain your noble status. You’ll be allowed to keep your family home, and resume your normal day’s duties,” the young soldier explained. “This is an annexation, not a decimation. Life in Lucis will be allowed to continue as it always has, just under new leadership… provided no one tries anything.”

Gladio remembered how those words felt like a good deal, given the circumstances, and a challenge. The Empire, even after years and years, still had no idea what Lucis was really about. The people weren’t prone to giving up without a fight, man or woman alike. Even if Insomnia still worked on a system of chivalry with their women, those same women could be vicious fighters just like any woman the Empire could find… But he was still young. He had a lot of growing to do.

Playing along seemed like the best solution, particularly for Iris. And how right he was.

Eight years later, and Iris was twelve, almost thirteen.

Eight years later, Gladio was a giant. He’d outgrown his father and he was stronger. He was even promised that he could be the Shield, though he would be so to the heir of Emperor Aldercapt’s throne; the child of his and Lady Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. Gladio knew, but never wanted confirmation of, how that happened. He did wish he could apologize to her, however, on behalf of any decent man out there.

It was why he’d grown to fear Iris getting older, maturing. Aldercapt’s two children—twins, a boy and a girl—were each eight years old. That meant Lady Lunafreya had only been fifteen, and that their births happened around the same time of the attack that took Lucis.

Not only did it make him sick, it made him worry for Iris.

While women of the Empire were treated as equals, women in all annexed countries were property.

It was what brought him to Aranea that day, who had grown all the more gorgeous, and all the more haunted, as the years went on. He could see there was an ally in her, but whether it was loyalty or fear that kept her in check, he wasn’t certain.

She was seated in a cafe not too far away from the Citadel’s grounds, where she advised she would meet with him when he sent her a request to talk.

When he got there and bowed in salute to her as his superior, she said, “Phone,” and held her hand out.

He frowned slightly, but pulled his phone to give it to her. She wasted no time to take his case off, and then the back cover, followed by the battery. She then set them in a row in front of the seat he would be taking, and gestured for him to sit.

“Everything… okay…?” he asked slowly as he lowered himself into the seat.

“Just don’t want ears on us,” she replied blandly. “What do you want?”

Her harsh and direct attitude was expected. Gladio even sympathized, for the very reasons he always thought of when thinking of her. He just wished she’d open up more. Maybe he could get her where she’d talk more, since he was completely legal by the Empire’s crude standards (’completely legal’ had been eighteen by Lucis’s standards; drinking, smoking, pornography…).

“I wanted to get some advice,” he admitted instead of trying to move on her. “Or, perhaps, reassurance. About Iris. I don’t want her suddenly getting taken as a wife by some asshole of the Emperor’s court.”

“Ah.” Aranea sipped at her coffee as she looked around them, likely to find anyone listening in on them. “I can’t make any promises on that one. I haven’t heard anyone talking about wanting her. She’s a lot smaller than one would’ve thought, given you. I don’t think the subject’ll come up until she… blossoms.”

Gladio grimaced at that. “What can I do to try to get the subject to stay in a closet, even when she does?”

“Nothing.” Gladio frowned at that. “Ravus Nox Fleuret did everything he could, everything he was told, to spare the Oracle from the lecherous gaze of Aldercapt and his court. He was asked to do more than you ever have, and he did it all. All it ensured was that he wasn’t completely tossed out of her life when she was forced to marry the emperor, though he was sent to the field during then and their… consummation. I wasn’t there, but the rumor is that the reason the Oracle was absent from public view for a month after was the fear of seeing the Oracle in an ‘abused position’ would cause anger in the general population.”

“She’s still their Oracle, even after all this time,” Gladio murmured, looking at his phone.

“Right. About the only thing that might be regarded is if you find a member of the court for her to marry before one claims her,” Aranea suggested. “So maybe what happened to Lady Lunafreya won’t happen to her.”

“’Lady’,” Gladio grumbled. Although never said directly, there was no question why Lunafreya was never crowned as Empress Lunafreya. It was a subtle reminder that she was still not worth as much as the people of Niflheim.

“And remember to mind your place,” Aranea continued, tilting her head to catch Gladio’s eyes when she noticed them lingering on the sights outside the cafe. “If you act out and they find a reason to remove you from the picture, you won’t be able to do anything for her or your friends.”

Gladio returned his gaze to Aranea. “Are you implying something?”

“Take it for what you will, Gladiolus. Ravus is the commander of the armies in Niflheim. The role of leading the military here would’ve fallen to Prince Noctis, but given how he is, your name is on the ballot. I’m sure he would’ve liked to have been where he is now, but back then, for the sway its given him.”

Aranea was crass and soulless in much that she said, but it was how she said things, the words she chose, that told Gladio that there was so much more going on in her mind than what she gave. That right there was proof. If he could get high enough in rank, he might have the sway to keep Iris safe.

He was so grateful Noctis was male, because he wasn’t sure if he could have kept him safe, otherwise. It was bad enough that women on the emperor’s court, and a couple of the men, seemed to have all eyes on him.

“Then I’ll keep on keepin’ on,” he decided.

“That’s the best idea at this point.”

“Hm…”

Aranea took another drink of her coffee before speaking, the motion appearing to serve in the place of thoughtful hums. “There’s no place to escape now, for anyone,” she said, tone hushed and eyes locked on his. “The Empire has everything on this side of the globe. For the sake of her and your friends, playing the game is the best thing you can do. As you always have. Throw on that Amicitia charm. Sell your soul. If they can sway the Shield, they’ll consider that alone a victory.”

“As if I’m not doing all of that already,” Gladio said with a small frown.

“They know a defiant glint when they see it,” Aranea coached. “You need to learn from that friend of yours. Scientia. He’s had to train the defiance out of him to compensate for the prince. I’m sure he’d have all sorts of tips for you.”

“Yeah.” Sighing, Gladio pushed to his feet and bowed to Aranea, after collecting the pieces and parts of his phone. “Thanks.”

He started to turn from her, but was stopped by a softened, “Hey.” He turned back to her, observing her grim expression. “If… I hear anything regarding your sister, I’ll find a way to tell you. Might not exactly be timely, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,” he reiterated, bowing his head, sincere in his gratitude. After a nod from Aranea, he turned and started out of the cafe.

Once he was in his car, he turned on the radio for some noise while he put his phone together again.

 _“—fficial announcement that the Oracle and Mother of the Empirical Heirs will be coming to Insomnia for the rare occasion where she is able to leave her duties in Niflheim to bring blessings upon the people of Insomnia, and the whole of Lucis._ ”

That… was bad. He knew for a fact that Lady Lunafreya still communicated through her dog, Umbra, with Noctis Lucis Caelum. Even though he hadn’t uttered a word in literal years, he still knew how to write. Was it really just a political visit? Or were they found out?

Gladio wondered if that meant Ravus would be coming ahead of her. If everything Aranea said about him over the years were true, could an alliance be made?

Even if it could, would it be possible for two angry big brothers to actually take on the Empire?

It would’ve if Noctis hadn’t been completely ruined with regard to his combat training. He had nothing past the age of ten behind him in skill, and he was never given full access to the Crystal. Ignis suspected there was something dampening the connection to it, but they were never able to prove it.

He needed to get to Ignis. They needed to have a talk.


	2. The Steward

Eight years ago, when Insomnia fell, young Ignis Scientia had been in advisory training.

“A prince’s steward can only hope to be so valuable, that he will become the steward to the King. To be valuable, you must not only be smart in etiquette and servitude, but in all things political. You are a confidant, an advisor, and a tactician. The Prince Regent must be able to lean on your advice over all others. His Shield and his Steward should be the two most important people in his life. You two must stand strong, and think clearly, where he cannot. The prince has been trained from a very young age that his emotions are second to his duty, and such lessons will always make a good man crack if he doesn’t have the proper support. His emotions are second to his duty. Your emotions are second to his. When in his company, nothing matters outside of him and what he needs. If he slips, it’s your duty to pick him up. If he falters, if he falls, if he begins to act in an unbecoming way, it is both your duty and your right to correct him. There is no one better-suited for this than you.”

Ignis used to believe that.

When Insomnia fell, however, and Prince Noctis was relegated to a status of pacification for the people, and he ceased uttering a word to anyone at any time, he realized that everything he worked for from his earliest years to then were all for naught.

Even when alone, just the two of them, Noctis remained silent. He would write small notes to Ignis, and would encourage Ignis to talk to him, but he never so much as hummed in acknowledgment. It killed Ignis. He felt as though their friendship was still there, that they were still bonded as brothers, but he’d do anything to hear his voice. What did it sound like, now that Noctis was past puberty and sitting at eighteen years of age? Was it soft and light, or deep and rough? Did he sound like King Regis? What sorts of things would he reveal about the times Ignis wasn’t allowed to be at his side when he had to meet with Emperor Aldercapt?

It hurt to think about what was happening there. It was clear to him and Gladiolus both that something dark happened during those meetings. Given the Empire’s determination to break those who could stand up to them one day, it wasn’t unfathomable to think he was going through something horrific. However, he never broke his silence, and he always left looking and acting as he did going in and, being the stubborn boy he was, he didn’t allow even hours of nonstop inquiry to break him.

In the years that followed the takeover, the education of both prince and steward was hampered by a lot. In fact, it was relegated to observation-only. Every book the boys owned, every educational toy or knick knack they had had been taken, and their intake of media was restricted. They had phones, but they were the most basic of flip phones, and that was hardly any good when Noctis refused to make a sound.

The only benefit that Ignis had was the arrival of Chancellor Ardyn Izunia.

The man unnerved him terribly. Something was wrong with him, but he was apparently quite unhappy with the stagnation that the boys had gone through. While Noctis outright declined everything Ardyn brought to him, Ignis wasn’t so quick to do. The red headed man brought them books, and even promised them smartphones in time, so Ignis took everything he could get. Even if it ended up coming with a price, he didn’t care. At that point, he would suffer a price just to get to study again.

And study he was, when Gladiolus eventually found him. He was seated in his room, surrounded by books and notebooks and pens, and he was taking notes of anything and everything that seemed interesting and relevant.

“You weren’t kidding about the chancellor, huh?” Gladio asked as he made his way through the small room, and dropping in a seat across the table from Ignis.

“I wasn’t. These aren’t outdated books, either. Some are Altissian prints from just this year,” Ignis replied.

“Beats the hell out of the books Iris and I could give you for an hour or two, huh?” Gladio had, on more than one occasion, expressed how unfair he thought it was that he and Iris were allowed their normal education, while Ignis and Noctis were frozen out almost entirely from learning anything new.

“Indeed.” Ignis certainly appreciated those prolonged visits spent allowing him to read what books they had from school, even if his own progress at one time had put him well ahead of Gladio in the arena of school. “But what has you coming today? I thought you’d be busy with the drills on the beach.”

“I had a meeting with Commodore Highwind.”

“A meeting? Or a ‘meeting’?”

“It’s never been like that with her.”

“Hm.”

“I got to thinking about Iris.” Ignis raised his eyes from his work then to look at Gladio in silent question. “About how she’s getting older. About what they’ve done to other girls a bit older than her. I know Aldercapt’s court has you around them a lot… you ever hear anyone mention anything about her?”

“I’ve not paid particular attention, but no, not that I can recall,” Ignis replied, furrowing his brow. “Do you think they’d take her for marriage?”

“Why wouldn’t they? The benefits we’ve been given has to have a price tag. I mean, Lady Lunafreya…”

Ignis flinched at that and rested back in his seat, so he could fold his arms. Gladio wasn’t the only one who was mortified the day they learned about her marriage and resulting pregnancy at such a young age, and to such a barbaric old man. “She _is_ the last of the noble girls not to be married off,” he acknowledged. “What did the commodore have to say about it?”

“She said basically keep doing what I’m doing. That if I prove I’m loyal, I should have some say. That Ravus Nox Fleuret just became commander of the Niflheim military, and I could become the commander of the Lucian military if I play my cards right.”

“That _would_ put you at a considerable advantage, but I would hesitate to think it would give you the right to say no if they’re determined,” Ignis postulated.

“Yeah. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Well, that and the radio’s saying that Lady Lunafreya’s going to be coming here for a visit.”

Ignis sighed and lifted his glasses up to his forehead, so that he could pinch the bridge of his nose. “I know what you’re thinking. I don’t believe they know. But even still, it could be… difficult. I’m not sure how he’ll handle having her so close, as I’m sure they wouldn’t allow him near her.”

“Unless it because some sick game,” Gladio grumbled. “What do you suggest?”

Ignis thought about it for a time. That was an incredibly good question. “How long do we have?”

“Five days. At least, that was according to the radio.”

“Then we best assume three or four, as they might want her to come in through the cover of darkness before then,” Ignis guessed “I suggest we prepare Noct. Prepare him for her arrival and how to conduct himself, with the promise that I’ll attempt to gain permission to serve her, and we can see where her mind is at. For all we know, she’s completely brainwashed by the Empire and will be of no benefit to meet.”

“Which would lend credence to this being a setup.”

“Aye. What you can do is do your best to find out the security procedures for her arrival. Cozy up with the commodore, with Commander Nox Fleuret if he comes ahead of her. I’ll do my best to ingratiate myself to Chancellor Izunia. I dare say there are times it appears he has greater authority than the Emperor, so it would be in our interest to take advantage of his generosity with our own in kind.”

“He could be hoping for that,” Gladio warned.

“Perhaps, but it’s a risk we have to take. There’s a reason that Lady Lunafreya and Noct have been left alive and in the positions they’re in, and I think it goes well beyond that prophecy. They’re figures of hope and light for millions of people around the world. Their youth shows of a future that could yet still be. If she’s on our side, and we can find a way to prove that she’s been treated poorly, we might be able to cause Lucians to rise up.”

“Maybe,” Gladio said with a sigh. He ended up nodding and stood up, watching Ignis. “Keep an ear out about Iris in the meantime, will you?”

“I promise,” Ignis swore, bowing his head.

There was no way he wouldn’t try to find out if anyone intended to take advantage of that young lady. She was too young, and it bothered Ignis tremendously that it even had to be a serious concern.

But… maybe things were looking up. Maybe. They’d have to continue their quiet operations and wait to find out, he supposed.


	3. The Commodore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the Empire's POV for a short bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize some ranking might not make sense to canon, but it's being done for a reason!
> 
> SUSPEND DISBELIEF PLS

Following her meeting with Gladiolus, Aranea Highwind found herself being summoned back to the Citadel for a ‘problem’ that had started following her brief departure. She swore that everything relating to her airborne division fell apart if she so much as wanted a bath without her phone on and within reach.

Making a hasty return, after very slowly finishing her coffee, she made way for the north-eastern side of the massive complex, which was the military wing and sealed off from the likes of the boys, including Gladio, for a great number of reasons.

The minute she passed through the giant doors, heavily guarded as they were, she was greeted by an infuriated Loqi Tummelt. Not only did he look angry, but he appeared as though someone had punched him in the eye, the white of it bright red, and the skin around it an increasingly red color.

“Commodore!” he snapped as he approached.

“Commodore,” she retorted.

“One of your _precious Glaives_ has stepped out of line, and if you don’t deal with it, I will, and you don’t want that,” the young man snapped angrily.

“I told you: They’re like feral dogs, and if you tease them, they _will_ bite,” she replied coolly as she started in the direction he was pointing.

“I’ll put the bastard down like a feral if you’re not careful, Highwind. Take care of him!” Loqi snapped at her back, and earning a dismissive wave over her shoulder.

The fate of the fighters of Lucis was one that was beyond tragic in Aranea’s point of view. With absolutely no chance to mobilize against the attack that stripped the city of the Wall and descended upon Insomnia in a single night, the Empire made good on their promise to kill every male over the age of thirteen, unless they were civilians.

The Crownsguard all died either in battle, or were executed in the most horrific ways that bore no honor in her opinion.

However, the Kingsglaive were a different story. There were still the Hunters in the wilds of Lucis to contend with. While the Crownsguard were superiorly trained, the Kingsglaive were much more astute at handling daemons. So, rather than enslave the women and murder the men, all of them had been enslaved. The original plan was to cripple the women and sell them off, and thrust the men into the wilds on slave collars to murder any who tried to push back in the wilds. Without Regis Lucis Caelum alive, and without his son being allowed to maintain contact with the Crystal, the Glaives were going to perish in one mission, since they wouldn’t have even gotten weapons.

Aranea managed to convince Emperor Aldercapt of the foolishness of such a plan. “We’ve already wasted the opportunity of the Crownsguard. The least we can do is utilize the Glaives to whatever max potential they have left.”

While she would still have to send them out without any magic abilities, and while she made it sound like it would be gruesome and traumatizing to anyone who hoped they could fight back, she managed to wriggle her way into commanding the Glaives. It wasn’t widely known. The Emperor, Loqi, and a few other higher-ups knew, and she was fine with that. It kept majority eyes off of her, and allowed her to do the very things that had her airborne division wrapped around her little finger.

Inside a large room—once a library, modified then with cages for the Glaives that still survived—Aranea closed the doors in and locked them. She then turned to the man who was collared to the floor in the center of the wall-to-wall cages and huffed. “I told you not to hit him.”

“I told you no promises if he got in my face like that again,” Nyx Ulric grunted, unable to get off of his hands and knees with how short the chain holding him was.

“Uh huh,” she replied passively. She strolled over to him as she pulled out a set of keys, and went to unlock him. “Was that all that it was about?”

“He was talking about how he found a man in the court that wanted a boyfriend,” snorted Crowe Altius from her cage.

Aranea pocketed her keys while she helped Nyx up and then proceeded to a switch to open all the cages in the room. “Of course he did,” she snorted. “He’s all bark and no bite, boys and girls. Aldercapt doesn’t take him serious, and I have a deal with the emperor when it comes to all of you.”

“We wouldn’t need a deal if Prince Noctis could get connected to the fucking Crystal,” Nyx grumbled.

“Well, that’s not happening anytime soon,” Aranea reminded him blandly. “You’re lucky part of that deal is making sure you all have weapons and armor when I have to send you out there.” She put a hand on her waist. “No more hitting. Loqi shouldn’t have been in here, and I’ll deal with that, but if someone else comes in here, the ‘feral dog’ defense will only work so long. I need you to control yourselves.”

“Yeah? And what if one of those assholes out there come in here with the intent of taking one of the ladies?” Libertus Ostium said as he leaned on the back of Nyx’s chair.

“If one of those assholes have a death wish, don’t fight back, but you tell me.” Aranea shook her head. “I know you don’t like that. But this is all I can do to keep them from killing all the men in here and turning the women into sex slaves. None of them should be stupid enough to test me, though.”

The Glaives as a whole didn’t particularly like that, but they clearly understood Aranea’s position. If there was one thing she made sure they understood, it was the fact that she wasn’t there to send them to an early grave. It was bad enough that most of them died as it was, since their entire ability to fight was so centered on the King’s gift from the Crystal. She wasn’t going to try to get the rest killed just because it’d be fun, or easy. She wanted them on her side. Soldiers, even enslaved soldiers, who knew their commanding officer actually cared would do a hell of a lot for that person.

“I’ve put in a request to have some of these cages removed, and the parts used to expand all of yours,” she advised. “Once I get that approved and done, I’ll be requesting actual cell setups. Plumbing, showers, beds. But I need your absolute resolution to _not_ fight back if Loqi or anyone else comes in here and screws with any of you. The emperor didn’t think taming you would be possible.”

“I’d hardly call us tamed, love,” Libertus replied.

“That’s not the point,” Nyx advised him, before nodding for Aranea to continue.

“If I can prove your value, I can then start convincing him that those of you left have started to ‘see the light’. At the very least, that might mean your conditional release as normal persons in this city. At best, it might persuade him that it’s worth allowing Prince Noctis enough connection to the Crystal to filter some of your abilities back to you.”

The ten or so Glaives exchanged looks, which had her squinting her eyes in suspicion. Before she had to ask, Crowe looked at her and shook her head. “Dunno if that’s gonna happen, boss.”

Aranea shook her head in confusion, and Nyx leaned forward, elbows to his knees. “Loqi mentioned something about us ‘needing to remember whose boots to lick’ because there are ‘replacements in the work’ and that they have ‘a lot more value’.”

Aranea squinted her eyes as she just got mad, and she looked to the side as she thought about that.

There _were_ places in the Citadel that were shut off, even from her. She was told all military were banned from those locations, outside of the external guards placed there. They were turned into science labs for whatever magitek, daemonological bullshit Niflheim scientists obsessed with.

If there was something going on there that was supposed to be a replacement of manpower, especially the manpower she dedicated time to, she sure as hell felt she had a right to know about it.

“I need you back in your cages, boys and girls. I’ve got somewhere I need to go visit.”


	4. The Scientist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected POV arrives.

The sound of doors in his new laboratory crashing open shuddered through every fragile vial and tank laid out around the sterilized environment, and Verstael Besithia found himself blaming Lucian architecture for it all as he turned slowly on his stool to see what was happening. Beyond a new wall of glass, separating a walkway with the lab he sat in, he saw Commodore Aranea Highwind breaking her way through guards that stood throughout to make her way to him.

“What’s that about?” a young woman of Niflheim birth asked from nearby, in a rebreather and lab coat as he was.

“I imagine Tummelt had to open his mouth and someone told her,” Besithia replied calmly. He looked at the young lady. “The commodore is protective of what is hers, whether it’s hers willfully or not.”

“Oh. Should I leave, sir?”

“I’d like you to retrieve our special project,” he decided. “Take him to Test Room Five. I’ll bring her shortly, so that she can get a demonstration and feel confidant that we’re not endorsing the extermination of her… pets.”

“Of course, sir.” The young woman turned to set down a dropper she was holding, and turned to leave through another, newly made, vacuum-tight door that dropped right in front of a set of stairs downward.

The elderly Besithia, meanwhile, went to stand. Raising a wristband to his mouth, he said, “Allow the commodore through. It’s fine.”

It was only a moment or so later before Aranea was slamming through the door of that lab and marching right up to the old man. Before she could speak, he was standing on his feet and saying, “Greetings, Commodore Highwind. You seem exceptionally enraged today.”

“What’s this I hear about you trying to replace my dogs?” she demanded. “And before you feed me a line of shit, know that they know better than to lie to me.”

“You’ve worked so hard on them,” Besithia said, watching her unflinchingly. Aranea was a dangerous woman, worthy of her role and the respect that came with it. However, he was a dangerous man and worthy of his role, along with the respect that came with it. He was much older than she, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of so much as a flinch. “It’s certainly not my intention to tread over your work. I assume it was Commodore Tummelt that felt it necessary to open his mouth.”

“Yeah. I’m real interested to know how that dumbass is in the know about something that I’m not.”

“Follow me, and I’ll answer you on the way.” Besithia turned to start for the same vacuum-sealed door that his assistant had passed through a bit ago. Aranea was following him at a healthy distance behind, arms folded over her chest and looking absolutely displeased. “First, it wasn’t intended for Tummelt to know a thing about this project, either. He’s always been a precocious thing.”

“That’s a nice way of saying ‘pain in the ass’.”

Besithia chuckled at that. She wasn’t wrong. Loqi was most certainly that, and so much more. It was annoying. However, as he was in the know, there was little that could be done about it aside from attempting to keep him silent. Of which he was failing, and thus he would have to be dealt with in time.

“He’s a child, and a petulant one, and saw fit to break his way in here on the accusations that we were surely doing some sort of covert subversive operation behind the new lab doors, against the emperor and the Empire. An excuse, I’m sure, to butt his way into business he had no reason to know, nor the intelligence to comprehend.”

“And yet he was allowed to just, what, continue on?” Aranea asked, understandably indignant.

“I haven’t yet reported him to our dear Emperor or beloved Chancellor.”

“Why not?”

“I find it best to be on good terms with commanding officers in your positions,” Besithia explained as he scaled down the long stairway, which contained two flights running in opposite directions and connected by a landing with a collapsed door. Aranea paused by that door to gaze inside, at what was ultimately a poorly lit room still coated in years-old blood. He stopped to await her at the top of the next flight. “Remember: I, too, was once a soldier. My veracity for science led me down this path, for which the emperor was grateful to have me tread.”

“Right…” After lingering for a second longer, Aranea returned her full attention to Besithia and nodded to his continuing down the stairs. “And the reason for not telling me after he found out?”

“Without a proper demonstration to offer you—Tummelt’s much more intelligent and war-weary counterpart—what good would it have done? You would have thought this project was nothing more than an attempt to override you and your feral project.”

“Sure, because I put a hell of a lot of time into making the Glaives obey.”

“Of course you did.”

At the bottom of that second flight, they entered what was once some sort of barracks, evidenced by the old bunkbeds left in the open for soldiers permitted into the area to sleep. Beyond them, on each side, were rooms made of reinforced glass. While Room 1 and Room 2 were empty and a painfully bright, sterile white, Room 3 was coated in a layer of blood that shone bright under the massive ceiling lights and the reflection of that light against the white interior.

Room 4 held three persons, and Aranea stopped to gaze inside. “What’s this?”

Inside, a man and woman of about Aranea’s age were guiding a little blond boy around from toy to toy, clearly working on teaching him a thing or two at each station.

“A test,” Besithia explained. “In order to fuel the magitek armor that makes up most of Tummelt’s infantry units, as well as the mass divisions sent out when your dogs are dispatched, we need to use the miasma of the infected, pulled into each and every suit.”

“Miasma,” Aranea echoed curiously.

“When infection completes, it tears the body apart into nothing but dust, a dry vapor that will either demonify or infect someone new. I have learned how to pull it into those suits of armor to bring them to life. However, there was a problem.”

Aranea remained silent as she listened to him. Although her eyes were on the child, he could tell she was focused on him.

“At first, our only subjects were the infected of Niflheim and annexed nations nearby, as well as soldiers. They were to die anyway, so to extend their lives not as daemons but as soldiers in the service of their Empire was a noble effort. I admit I wasn’t fond of it, but one must push aside such grievances for the betterment of the whole. However, shy of deliberate infection and inevitably tearing through more of the population than what is moral, I was able to develop a new plan: Cloning.”

“Cloning.”

“Yes. What you’re looking at is a second generation attempt, and third phase of the project. We had Phase One, the first generation. Clones of my DNA, born in tubes but infants all the same. We attempted to infect them at that age, but their minds lacked the development to create stable soldiers. Many fell apart before ever seeing battle. We tested them at all ages, and it was only once they turned eighteen, did we see a positive result. However, the human mind continues to develop until the mid to late twenties, and even waiting a year is unsatisfactory.

“Phase Two, I had learned to produce them as full grown. Age twenty-six. We could infect them without them ever leaving their glass wombs, and transfer the miasma with little issue. These are the magitek soldiers you work with today.

“Phase Three is a return to cloning infants. With our stronghold now complete, I can afford to attempt Phase Three, which is with this one here. He will be raised with the highest of educations. Better than even I received. Once he reaches the age of twenty-six, we will proceed with demonification and eventual transfer. The hope is that a more intelligent subject will equal a more intelligent soldier. They seem to lose about seventy percent of their total intelligence, and all of their conscious intelligence. The more they have, the more that thirty percent will mean.”

“And this is the grand project?”

“Actually, Phase Two is still in effect and will be nearing completion in one year’s time. However, our true pride and joy is the sole survivor of Phase One.”

Aranea frowned and watched as Besithia turned and started over to Room 5, waving for her to follow him.

“A long time ago, some Lucian soldiers broke into our facility and stole one of the infants of Phase One. We were lucky enough to locate him after Insomnia was annexed.”

Inside the room, a young man about the prince’s age sat. He was at a table on which his hands were chained, and the chains were long enough that he could read a book fairly comfortably.

“The people assigned to act as his parents named him Prompto Argentum,” Besithia said with a snort. “He became a progenitor to what is now Phase Three. But I’ve decided that, unlike Phase Three and all those of the other phases, he won’t be destroyed or infected for transfer. He turned into a nervous child with the urge to please anyone willing to give him positive reinforcement. This left him easily persuaded by any reinforcement.”

“Torture,” Aranea translated.

“And now we have a trained assassin,” Besithia boasted. “Mind you, he doesn’t look exactly like me. None of them do, although they’re identical to one another. To clone them successfully, I needed the DNA of a woman to contribute to a stable X-chromosome, as the modifications I made to their DNA to make them physically and mentally better cause a breakdown. But he’s close enough.”

“Wow.” That response was as unreadable as her expression. It amused Besithia.

“If you would like, I would be happy to give you one up on your fellow commanding officer.”

“What do you mean?”

“While the emperor and I will have primary command over him when we need it, I want him to move around among the population in the Citadel, and he could use someone strong and competent to report to, and to learn from.”

“You sure that letting him roam free would be smart? What about his childhood before?”

“He was a latchkey child. The… ‘parents’ were aware that he is of pure Niflheim blood. They provided for him as was requested by the kingdom, but they were absent and, at times, downright abusive. It made harming him with an ultimately positive reinforcement in the end once he corrected his behavior that warranted punishment made him far more keen here. With us.” He looked to Aranea. “And that means, should he step out of line, you are expected to put him back in line if necessary.”

“…right. And when do you want this to happen?”

Besithia gestured to the locked door to the side of them, and moved over in preparation to open the door. “Why don’t you go in and interview him yourself, and let me know when _you_ would like it to happen, hm?”

“Seriously?”

Besithia proceeded to unlock and open the door, gesturing into the room, chuckling deeply. “I dare say, you might be surprised.”


	5. The Engineered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Prompto Argentum.

There wasn’t much left of Prompto Argentum that Prompto could remember being his own.

He could remember his childhood, but not as the one who lived through it. The memories felt like those one developed as they were told a story by someone else. A narrative given to him by another’s mouth, about another’s experiences. It was probably because of how many times he would repeat his childhood to himself as a story in order to try to keep himself sane.

Having absolutely no one there with him the day Insomnia fell, when the Empire broadcast that they were welcoming the children of Niflheim to register as true citizens of the Empire, he believed he was doing right by going to the center doing the call. It was something his adoptive parents criticized him for as he got older. They had hoped his fair hair, eyes and skin would change with age. At least his hair, but when it stayed that same sunny blond, they made sure he felt how much he didn’t belong. He thought that maybe the Empire would right that wrong. Not even the prince, who was a classmate of his, wanted anything to do with him, although he wasn’t sure if it was his appearance in that he was overweight, or his fair appearance. Honestly, he didn’t want to know.

Arriving at that center, it took one observant soldier grabbing his wrist to push back his wristband that covered his strange tattoo, and that was all there was to it. They didn’t even give him _one day_ to adjust before they were strapping him to a table and doing endurance electro-shock training.

Eight years later, he was still there, with so much implanted knowledge, it was hard not to just be robotic. He didn’t know what was real, what was implanted, and what he made up to keep his sanity in the latest hours of the night.

“You are genetic perfection, as are all these boys,” he was told the second day he was there, and again on many days for many weeks, for many months, and many years after. “I would never create anything but. But you, being the last of the originals, are even more so. You are, for a lack of better words, my _son_. Every generation after you, they are derivatives of you or derivatives of the derivatives. You are the light of this project. The _future_ of this project.”

He was a sucker for such boasting. An empty childhood, devoid of any real love or support, left him dying for affection. The fact that those words came after a brutal training, or before he would leave him for the night to guards who took advantage of the lack of security cameras and his broken soul, didn’t diminish them.

His father, his real father, saw hope in him.

That day, when the woman who assisted his… creator, named Metti, arrived to collect him, he was seated in the corner of his cell, fidgeting with a disposable camera he’d been given by her. She walked over and crouched down, smiling. “Good day, Prompto,” she said tenderly. “Have you filled your camera?”

“Yes.” It was filled with all the same pictures that all the other cameras she brought him were filled with, but there was still some relief. The nights the camera wasn’t full, his night guards didn’t enter his cell.

It was almost as if Metti knew that, because she tried to make certain he had available film by end of her shift every time. She held out her hand for it, and he delicately handed it over. “I’ll get them developed for you. A new camera will be here for you. But for now, I’d like to take you to Room Five.”

“The book room? Really?”

“That’s right.” Metti went to stand straight and offered her hand to Prompto. Unlike the other researchers there, she never feared him, and never abused him. She did things she _had_ to do, for the life of the project, but she was never mean or sadistic. It made it safe for her to have direct contact with him, and he gave her his hand as he stood. “A commanding officer of the great Empire’s military is going to be brought down to meet you.”

“M-Miss Metti…” Prompto stammered, frowning and slowing in his steps.

“No, no, don’t worry,” she said as she turned back to him. “Remember how you said you wish you could see more pretty girls? Well, this is Aranea Highwind. Do you remember learning about her?”

“Commodore of the Airborne Division of the Empirical Military, formerly of just the Third Army Corps 86th Airborne Unit until the annexation of Lucis,” Prompto rambled off, watching her dubiously. “She should be… twenty-eight years old, five foot five. Is a dragoon warrior, wields a lance.”

“Spear, but same difference, right?”

“Oh, right. Spear,” Prompto conceded as he was guided to start walking again. “…may I ask why?”

“Doctor Besithia believes it’s time she learn about you. About the project. He’s so proud of you, so you’re perfect for her to meet. I will have to attach you to the table in Room Five but you’ll get to pick whatever book you want to read while waiting, and I’ll give you mobile length.”

“Thank you, Miss Metti.” Unfortunately, years of everything that had been done to him, sometimes the wrong movement could send him into an unpredictable state of of blind panic when he wasn’t familiar with someone in the room with him, or he was triggered to act in a specific way. He understood why Metti would want to bind him to the table.

When they got to Room 5, the reading room, Metti released his hand so he could pick a book while she set up a set of long-chained cuffs, procured from a drawer under the table. He paid no mind to the sound of the doors closing behind them and locking, as it was a sound he’d heard for almost half his life.

On one wall, nonstop shelves, filled with books resided, and he took to looking through them to find something that would make Metti and Besithia happy. He learned the hard way that picking books that would be interesting to him came with consequences, even when they insisted that he could pick any book he’d like. So, he found a book on human anatomy and pressure points, and pulled it from the shelf, returning to Metti promptly.

When she was ready for him, he sat down and placed the book down, so he could hold his arms out to her for securing.

“Are they too tight, Prompto?” she asked once he was secured.

“No, Miss Metti.” Yes, they were, but Metti was so nice and would loosen them for him, and sometimes she got scolded for that. He’d take the metal biting slightly into his skin over her getting into trouble. He didn’t know if other people got punished like he did. Miss Metti was too nice and too pretty to be hurt like that.

“Okay. Go ahead and read until the commodore arrives and comes in.”

“Should I do anything when she comes in?”

“No. Be yourself,” Metti replied. “The doctor wants her to meet you, not study you.”

“Okay.”

With that, Prompto began to read, folding his hands together, around the pages of the book and leaning in a bit to be able to see the pages. He was overdue for corrective surgery. An event from his childhood, with his adoptive father, had messed up what had been perfect vision for him, and he hadn’t had contacts or glasses in a long time. His vision didn’t appear to get worse, but he was nearsighted for sure.

Besithia had been incredibly displeased when he learned what ruined Prompto’s vision, and he could recall the day being very light on him following a hissed order to hunt down the adoptive parents. Prompto was never told if they were found; or, if they had been, what happened as a result.

As he read about the pressure points of the lower abdomen, and the effects it could have both for pleasure and for pain, the doors of the room unlocked and opened, and a set of heeled boots started to approach. Prompto didn’t look up, continuing to read his book, and turning a page. It was amazing that the same muscles that could be hit to completely cripple a person and potentially herniate the muscles of the lower abdomen could, when sexually stimulated, be pressed lightly to cause a lockup around clusters of nerves that heightened the sensation. It worked best with women, but men could experience a lighter set of spasms. Likely due to the placement of sexual organs, he had to assume.

“Prompto, right?” a woman’s voice asked.

He looked up slowly, and… well, Metti was right. The armored woman sitting across for him was really, _really_ pretty.

That didn’t broadcast on his face, however. “Commodore Highwind,” he greeted in exchange. The young, frightened demeanor shown to Metti had shifted to an emotionless husk. Besithia had mentioned to someone when leaving his cell once that it was a ‘defense mechanism’ and ‘one that should be fostered’. Thus, he never received corrective punishment.

Not from anyone when Besithia and Metti were there, anyway.

The night guards demanded correction in their actions.

Prompto never spoke a word. The day would come when Besithia would cut him loose, and on that day, he’d kill them. That’s what he was made for, after all.

“I’m supposed to get to know you,” Aranea said as she studied his face with pretty, green eyes. “Besithia out there says that he’s going to remand you to my guardianship.” Prompto had no idea that Aranea was choosing to use that word, that it wasn’t the word Besithia himself used.

“I promise that I’m compliant with all members of the military of Niflheim,” Prompto replied, still dry. Robotic.

“Instead of telling me that you ‘obey orders real good’, why don’t you tell me about what you can do.”

“Commodore?”

“Preferred weapons, areas of excellence, the like.”

Prompto glanced from her to Metti, a bit lost. Metti stepped closer to Aranea. “Prompto is well-rounded and trained to be exceptionally adaptable. However, unlike those in the magitek armor, his area of specialty has to do with projectiles. If it can be fired, or if it can be thrown, he knows how to use it.”

On the loudspeaker over their heads, Besithia’s voice said, “His eyesight is 20/55 in the right, 20/30 in the left at this time. I’ll be doing laser correction on him in the next day to bring him to 20/20 guaranteed, but if we’re lucky, 20/10 or so.”

“Huh.” Aranea looked from each of them to Prompto. “Gotta say, nothing makes using a sniper rifle easier than if you have better-than-perfect vision. Doesn’t really matter when using a bazooka or grenade launcher.”

That actually nudged a faint smirk to the corner of Prompto’s mouth.

“By falling into the commodore’s custody, you’ll be required to wear a boundary collar,” Besithia explained to Prompto on the speaker. “But you’ll be granted freedom to go wherever you would like on Citadel grounds. The code on your arm will grant you access to any level, any section. It will also mean that you will behave with the conduct that the commodore orders from you. The only orders that supersede hers will remain mine and Emperor Aldercapt.”

“I understand,” Prompto replied obediently. Robotic. In his head, the idea of any freedom is both terrifying and elating. The idea of answering to the emperor isn’t daunting. He met him before, and he was kind to him. Prompto had no idea that his gentle speech and warm conversation was something not even the last living Lucii was given. He had no idea that, even though he was born from a test tube, he was still considered more human than the people of all the countries they annexed. He was 100% of Niflheim, and a lab-created weapon to boot. Metti said that Besithia ran the brutal training on him with a heavy heart; that he wished ‘no one of Niflheim origin had to endure such things, no matter their birth’.

He had no concept of the absolute racism and superiority of his people.

All he knew was the only real father he ever had, who complimented him and encouraged him even in light of brutal tactics Prompto didn’t understand furthered him into a forged weapon of mass destruction, was finally allowing him a breath of air that wouldn’t be stale, smelling of antibacterial chemicals necessary for the laboratory’s sanitation. He’d be allowed to see the sun again, and not just lights that emulated the sun’s power to keep him healthy.

“He likes to take pictures and read,” Metti told Aranea with a caring tone that she so often used with him. “If you’d be so kind as to help him with that, I’m sure he would prefer something more than disposable, plastic cameras.”

“Yeah?” Aranea looked at Prompto, studying his eyes, vacant of any of the emotion he was feeling within. “I’ll get him a smartphone and a computer, then. That should be enough for him to start off with. If he proves he’s really into that shit when he’s got more to do, we can talk about better gear. It’d probably be useful for the sorts of things you’ll be wanting him to do, anyway.”

“Then we’ll prepare him for you and have him ready tomorrow,” Besithia advised.

Aranea went to stand with a nod, and held her hand out to Prompto. He stared at it in confusion. Did she want to look at his hand? Or lead him somewhere? He was chained, so how could he go anywhere with her?

“Handshake,” Metti advised him gently.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Prompto went to take Aranea’s hand then. Her grip was surprisingly firm, and she gave him a discreet squeeze that felt… comforting. He drew no attention to it, looking from their hands to her face. “I look forward to serving you, Commodore Highwind.”

“See you soon,” was her farewell.

Metti went to show her out then, and Prompto went to reading once again. It was short lived as Besithia entered and went to sit across from him that time. “You’ll be welcome back down here any time you need it,” he advised. “It might be overwhelming at first, and you might receive difficulties from Lucians that occupy the Citadel, ranging from the help to the prince himself. You are not to act against them unless they are attempting to kill you or cripple you. Even then, you disarm and disable, and then report.”

“Yes, sir.”

“To give you a first taste of freedom, we will be leaving your cell unlocked. You may go wherever you please, with the exceptions of you staying in the laboratory floors, and out of rooms with the hazard symbol.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Very good.”

Prompto had no idea that he was being given a final test.

——

The obedience to Besithia’s orders weren’t part of that test. The scientist had doubt he would obey his restrictions of where to go, but Prompto had no idea that Besithia suspected wrongdoing in the night at the hands of the night watch, raised when he allowed Metti to bring Prompto those disposable cameras. The boy was lighter and easier to work with the following day when he had available film in his camera overnight, while when he didn’t, he was prone to being difficult and resistant, unfocused and easily disturbed. Because of the policy of no security cameras, no filmed evidence to steal, he had no way of confirming anything.

Prompto had no idea that Metti not managing to bring him a new camera before leaving for the evening was planned.

He said nothing, of course, but when the lights of the lab floors went to half, with his room going dark outside of the desk lamp he had control over, he felt sick. The excitement balled up in the pit of his stomach over the amazing uniform he was issued just an hour before had melted away to anxiety.

As such, he didn’t leave his cell, despite it being unlocked. The doors of the cell were clear, just as its walls, so he could see the three night guards congregating outside. The same three faces he’d seen every night outside of weekends since he first got there. He used to think their abuse was part of his training, until he hit puberty. When the abuse changed then, he was took embarrassed to say anything. Besides, if he couldn’t handle what they did to him, wouldn’t that mean he was defective? Besithia told him what happened to the others that were discovered to be defective…

He was a creation against nature, the men would say, and he was at fault for them having no lives. Why they had to protect an abomination was beyond them. The least he could do was keep them preoccupied, they insisted. What that ‘preoccupation’ entailed was the only thing that changed over the years.

After who knew how long, the door of his cell finally opened as the men strode in, laughing and joking as they moved.

“We hear you’re finally being allowed out to pasture!” one, a man named Jameis, cackled. “That’s pretty stupid on their parts.”

“Oh, but what do we know?” another, named Nicholas, teased. He paced over to the neatly folded uniform, consisting of black, fit jeans, a leather vest, and a tank top underneath. “Look at this emo shit.”

“Aw, he can’t choose his own wardrobe, don’t get on him for that,” the last, Terrance, said. They were all from Accordo, as he understood it, though they were Niffs by blood. Prompto would learn, in time, that was where their hatred, and yet their air of superiority, came from.

Jameis started over to Prompto, who was seated on his bed and watching them with his typical, blank expression. Even though he was such a nervous wreck inside, he never once tried to give them reason to leave him alone. He never showed fear or pain, sadness or anger.

He was ignoring the fact that that welling nervousness was spiraling with the anxiety of the new stage of his life that was approaching. The need to do right by his keepers, and to be able to be somewhat normal, too.

The feeling of… hope.

Jameis’s hand snapped forward, grabbing Prompto by his hair and forcing him to get off of the bed. “After all these years, we’re gonna have lives again, but you’re gonna pay us back.”

Prompto just stared into space as he was pulled and forced to wrench his head to the side. In his mind, he was already predicting how it would go: It would start with Jameis landing some frustrated blows. A few punches to the chest, a kick to the leg to drop him, and a few more kicks to his stomach; all places that were covered by clothes.

Then the pulling of him to lay across his meager, barren desk would commence. Face down, turns would be taken until they were ready to spend their bodies dry, and then he’d be made to use his mouth. One by one, he would choke down whatever they had to offer, and then endure more aggression that would target the back of his head until he passed out.

It was always the same. They weren’t creative.

He was, though, and that feeling of hope, of which he didn’t realize held that name, was actually arguing. In the seconds it took to get him to stand and to play over the nightmare that his cameras guarded him from (like clockwork, he would take a picture every thirty minutes, and their attacks always lasted longer, so to miss a photo check-in would raise the attention of Metti, so it wasn’t worth the risk), his mind fought the idea of his typical, ritual compliance.

‘ _Not today. We can’t fall apart in front of the commodore._ ’

With that urging, Prompto reeled his right fist back, and slammed it forward, targeting Jameis’s lower abdomen, like he had been reading about earlier. The book said that, with a strong enough blow, a man or woman struck low enough on the abdomen could cause paint equal to a blow to a male’s genitalia, with the bonus of possibly perforating the bladder. If nothing else, the gathering of nerves there would cause a complete seizure of the muscles there, with pain branching up and down through the torso and genitals.

Prompto, while carrying a thinner frame, was exercised to be able to hold and handle weapons with extreme kicks. His muscles looked small, but they were strong, and it showed. Jameis lost the ability to breathe, and he released Prompto’s hair in favor of grabbing at his groin and stumbling off so he could drop to his knees.

Blank-faced, Prompto looked from him to Nicholas and Terrance. “The fuck is wrong with you?” Nicholas snapped as he went to grab at Prompto’s neck. Normally, such an action would render Prompto in his control, as per orders.

But they were meaning to do harm to him.

His orders had changed.

“ _You are not to act against them unless they are attempting to kill you or cripple you. Even then, you disarm and disable, and then report._ ”

Before Nicholas’s hand could touch him, Prompto caught that hand with his own. Lacing their fingers together, he twisted outward to throw Nicholas’s arm into a bar lock, and then threw his left fist up and into the joint of Nicholas’s elbow, dislocating it, and possibly fracturing it.

Prompto released him to allow him to contend with that, as he looked at Terrance, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

“Please take them and leave,” Prompto requested. “My orders are to disable anyone who means to do me harm. I don’t wish to do that, but I will if you make me.”

Terrance, who was standing there and gaping, slowly nodded in agreement and raised his hands in surrender. “We didn’t… We didn’t know.”

“I know.”

“We wouldn’t have—”

“I’m going to sit down at my desk,” Prompto advised, monotonous and unblinking. “If all of you aren’t gone by the time I turn around, I’ll break all your knees. Please don’t make me.”

Terrance nodded again, and said something, likely another agreement. Prompto didn’t care. He tuned him out in favor of going and sitting at the desk as promised.

It was too late to report such things. He would do so in the morning. In the meantime, he made a quiet promise to change once they were gone, and use his freedom in the laboratory to remind them the entire night through that their punching bag/plaything, ‘made in Niflheim but tainted by Lucis’ was no longer present.

The feel of their fearing him, he would find, was enthralling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who should be the next entry?


	6. The Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All hail the Prince Regent of Lucis, never to become King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the time this took, and sorry it is kind of lame. Every time I started working on it, something IRL would explode and I couldn't get back into it, so it was written at a lot of different points... blech.

In eight years, not once did a sound so much as squeak past the throat of Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum.

The last time he uttered a sound was when he was crying over the body of his fallen father and the father of Gladiolus. When he screamed as Cor Leonis was dragged from the room after being shot down, so he could no doubt be tortured and executed. His entire life shattered that day.

He was already a tormented child, experiencing the death of his mother when he was four, when she was assassinated right next to him during a day trip—something Emperor Aldercapt took great pleasure in telling him was meant for him, and was the reason the next attempt was launched against him at age eight. Fourteen people died for him that night, and his journey to wellness had been a rough one before he was taken to Tenebrae for healing with the Oracle and Queen.

There, he watched his new found friend be torn away from him as the Empire chose that time to annex it. To slaughter the queen and hold her children hostage.

No stranger to death and yet the shock of Insomnia’s fall and his father’s body, torn asunder at the swing of a monster’s blade, broke him. All the men in his life that protected him as family were gone, their blood covering the throne room floor, and a trail left in the wake of the Immortal’s forced departure.

He thought for sure, as the man who once commanded the Kingsglaive stood over him, that he would be next. That was all they wanted, wasn’t it? Him to die?

He screamed, at just ten years old, through tears and pain and his father’s blood on his face, “Why not just kill me?!”

“Because we’ve found another way,” Titus Drautos said, as he took of the helm that hid his identity and broke Noctis all the further in his reveal.

Those were the last words he ever spoke. The last sound he made was when he turned and buried his face against King Regis Lucis Caelum’s bloody chest and sobbed until he was hoarse.

The next time he wanted to speak was when, just weeks later, it was announced that Lunafreya Nox Fleuret was being wed to Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt. Ignis had even told him it would be okay if he needed to make even the smallest sound, but all he did was stand in horrified shock.

The only other time was when, just a few months after the wedding, it was announced that Luna was pregnant.

He just turned eleven.

That meant she was fourteen, turning fifteen in a short while.

Emperor Aldercapt was fifty-two at the time.

Noctis knew how wrong it was, even at that age, but it was nice to know the boys he called his brothers validated him in his anger. Gladio ranted for hours. Ignis agreed with him endlessly. Noctis spent the time being held by Ignis after he’d gone into a bathroom and punched the bathtub so many times, it broke the skin on his knuckles. He was always smaller than Ignis, especially so with Gladio, so Ignis held him easily, holding his arms around Noctis and rocking him to try to calm him down, and to prevent him from running off and hurting himself again.

At the time, Ignis and Gladio were still attempting to get Noctis to talk to them. They would spend time pleading and bribing him to say at least one word, but he refused. The Empire didn’t deserve his words. Speaking, to him, meant compliance. He would _not_ comply. He refused. There was a reason that, in better days, people joked about him being the most stubborn boy in the kingdom.

Now, eight years later, Noctis had continued to hold firm. Even in private moments, where Gladio and Ignis felt safe talking freely, Noctis didn’t utter a word. To him, the Empire was always listening, and thus, he would refuse to give them his words. He would sit, and he would listen to anything they had to say, complacent and attentive at the same time. No one really schemed against the Empire, even in quiet conversations like that, but still. There were some conversations best left out of the light where the Niffs could hear. And there were voices best left unused, such as the case of Noctis.

That day, he found himself sitting in a meeting about the people. Without anything else to do, attending meetings was all there was. He imagined in a happier life, in a safer world, he would have been stubborn about meetings in favor of being a normal teenager. Of school and friends, and making Ignis go in his stead.

The world wasn’t safer, though; his life wasn’t happier. So, meetings it was. It was one of the few ways he was allowed to learn anything at all, even though he was pretty confident that the only reason they allowed him to attend was to remind him of how much he’d lost.

That day was worse, because it was the first time that, sitting in for Emperor Aldercapt, Chancellor Ardyn Izunia was in attendance. Noctis didn’t like him. There was something so sickly and sinister about him, and it was hard to describe. Especially when he seemed so cheerful and overly-attentive to the prince.

The meeting was one filled with barbs of how ‘well’ the people of Insomnia were doing, and how ‘gracious’ the people beyond were to have access to the superior technology of the Crown City. It hurt, because the attacks were personal, and about things Noctis never had any control over. The fact that he managed to stay hollow-eyed as he watched each speaker, acting as though he wasn’t hearing a thing, was impressive.

“In the end, things are going splendidly. Exactly according to plan, as it always does,” one of the Emperor’s council members ended with.

“Wonderful!” Ardyn piped from his seat, beaming away proudly. “Now, all of you can apologize to our sweet prince here~” The sudden, stunned looks on the council members’ faces was remarkable, and entirely missed by Noctis as his gaze shot over to Ardyn.

“What?” one of the women at the table asked, baffled.

“Oh, please don’t tell me that you’re so damaged, you can’t figure out how unbecoming it is to torture a child with no power over the misgivings of those before him,” Ardyn scolded, clearly taking a delightful amount of pleasure out of how shell shocked the council was. When no one seemed willing to speak up, Ardyn let out a loud groan, throwing his head back. “You see, this is something your father had a much better handle over, Prince Noctis,” he advised, looking at the wide-eyed boy. “He didn’t tolerate a court of disrespect.”

Even if he was speaking to anyone ever, Noctis would’ve been left speechless at that point.

Ardyn raised to his feet and leaned over to smile at the council, fourteen in number. “I suggest you all go and love your family members tonight as if it was your last night with them,” he said, his cheshire smile growing all the larger and more devilish.

 _That_ got the council moving, fleeing from their seats and for the door. Ardyn stayed leaned over the table until they were all gone, then groaned and dropped back into his chair. “Clearly I need to go shopping for new ones,” he said, feigning a pitiful tone and putting the back of his hand to his forehead. “You’ve a meeting soon with the emperor, do you not, Prince Noctis?” he asked after a sigh. When Noctis didn’t respond, Ardyn dropped his hand into his lap and began to study him. “Word of the Silent Prince has spread far and wide, you know.”

Noctis said nothing; he _offered_ nothing. Not even a shrug of his shoulders.

Ardyn changed seats then, to get right next to Noctis, and to reach out and take his chin. Noctis didn’t so much as flinch. Long ago, he learned a pair of important lessons: Flinching, recoiling, cowering made those working on him happy. They enjoyed his pain. Thus, it was another motivator to keep all noise and emotions locked away. Unreadable. It was the only way he could fight back, so he would very well use it.

“Far and wide, word of the prince who won’t utter a single word has spread. I think it’s remarkable!” Ardyn leaned to the side, so that he was right up in Noctis’s personal bubble, and ignored as Noctis leaned away slightly. “It’s also quite charming, in my opinion. Not so much with our dear emperor, however. I did try to keep this from him, sweet prince. But! Chin up, I’m pressing to get you and your dear steward smartphones.”

Noctis was… unimpressed, to say the least. While getting phones like everyone else in the world seemed to have was a nice prospect, Noctis would believe it when he saw it. At that moment in time, the only thing he knew was that the emperor was apparently pissed with his existence again. He knew what that meant. Even if he was speaking, he wouldn’t have to ask.

“Are you going to be alright~? I _could_ go with you to your meeting with Aldercapt…” Ardyn said with a teasing lilt.

The response he got was Noctis standing up from the table and turning away, so he could just go and get it over with. “A man that moves towards obligation! I do like that, o’ prince!” Ardyn called after him, that sinister grin never stopping.

A man was waiting at the door when he saw Noctis on the way. The prince knew he was one of the emperor’s messengers, in charge of retrieving Noctis whenever he wanted to see the young man. That was why, when the messenger opened his mouth to speak to Noctis, he was greeted with the palm of Noctis’s hand, held up to silence him. ‘Don’t bother speaking,’ was the clear meaning of that gesture.

Noctis knew the drill.

——

Blinding pain to his chest was enough to wind Noctis and cast him down to his knees. He grasped at his chest and did everything he could to not utter a single sound. Not one shred of distress, sighing, nothing that was within his control.

In the last year or so, Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt had gotten weaker. Throwing his own punches were troublesome due to what appeared to be rheumatoid arthritis plaguing his body. His fingers were leaning unnaturally to the side, an indication of how severe the disease had gotten.

As a result, when his private meetings with Noctis occurred, they did so with one or two of his personal guard. It always started the same, with him mocking Noctis about how well the people were doing under his rule, and how Insomnia had proven to be a much more comfortable home than Gralea.

When Noctis didn’t so much as flinch at the things he would speak of, Aldercapt proceeded to have his men beat on the prince as he watched in amusement. Without his connection to the Crystal, and with the suspension of his combat training the day the Empire won, Noctis had no way to fight back. All he could do was roll with the punches, literally, and hope that Aldercapt would only want to see a beatdown that day.

On the rare occasion, the emperor wanted worse done to the young prince. Way, way worse.

“I should have you beaten beyond recognition,” Aldercapt said that day as Noctis said on his knees, quietly trying to regain his breath. “The only reason the people find your silent existence captivating is because of your appearance. You know that, don’t you?”

No response. One could easily feel as though Noctis was ignoring him entirely, with how he didn’t react. He heard every word, however.

“But alas, we have to keep you this way. After all, your life and well-being is the only thing that keeps the people from whining _nonstop_ about us being here.”

Translation being: Kept the people from rebelling.

Aldercapt always tried to put a meaning behind the abuse. Some reason that it was Noctis’s lack of respect, or his actions, that led them to those moments of abuse. Anymore, it felt to Noctis that he was furious by the prince’s youth. The emperor was entering his twilight years, and Noctis still had an entire lifetime ahead of him. Well, provided no one killed him, first.

“Enjoy the next two days,” Aldercapt decided from his seat, waving the guards away from Noctis.

One left, and the other one only did after delivering a swift kick to the boy’s face and knocking him onto his back. Noctis could feel his lower lip sink in, and get cut by, his lower teeth, and the taste of bloody copper started to fill his mouth.

“After that, I’m sending you to stay in your room for the next two weeks. We’ll have no use for you, so best keep you where you can’t get into any trouble.”

That time, Noctis did only hear about half of what he was saying as he sucked hard on his slit lip, and rolled around to his hands and knees. It was important to keep his lip from bleeding onto his clothes. He’d kept the abuse from Ignis and Gladiolus for years, and he wanted to continue to do so.

Finally, Noctis got to his feet, lip still pulled in and held by his teeth, to look at Aldercapt and wait for him to dismiss him. They’d focused on his chest a lot that day. It felt like he had at least a few fractures. He wanted to go lay down, and hopefully avoid everyone—including his friends—for a while.

“Well? Go on. I’ve had my entertainment for the day.” Of course he had. That was all it was: entertainment.

Noctis turned slowly and started away, holding his chest as he walked. He hoped that he could just path straight to his bedroom and go to sleep. There was nothing else for him to do outside of being at meetings and private sessions with the emperor, so he rarely had to do anything but that. The sad irony of it was that, with his connection to the Crystal being severed, he was less tired than he would’ve been otherwise.

It, more or less, sucked.

The positive was that his bedroom wasn’t too far from the emperor’s, mostly because the emperor took the bedroom of his father, and those sessions rarely were held elsewhere because of the control that could be had on who was on that floor at any given time. Just two right turns, and he was able to lope over to his doors. There was a window cleaner, a Lucian, across the hall from his door, cleaning at the windows that looked out to an atrium in the center of floors 70 through 80. When she noticed him, she went for his door to get it for him.

“I noticed Ignis and Gladiolus entering when I got to this hall,” she whispered, wide eyed.

Noctis groaned in his head and nodded his thanks to her, trying not to eye the control collar around her neck. Those collars were used to keep those who they basically enslaved under lock and key, delivering a painful shock that came in varying degrees of voltage when they wanted to punish them for any given reason.

As he turned to the door, the woman was quick to step forward. “I have it for you, your Highness,” she whispered, holding it open for him.

He nodded again, to acknowledge her kind help, and did his best to walk in as though he hadn’t just been kicked and struck repeatedly in the chest after every sentence the emperor had to say.

Sure enough, in his room—barren of anything that wasn’t furniture or clothes—sat Ignis and Gladiolus. They were at a small sitting space, fit with three chairs and a small coffee table between them, though they were quick to stand when they saw Noctis enter.

“Hey, Noct,” Gladio greeted, straightening out his shirt.

Ignis wasn’t so oblivious, though. He clearly spied the way Noctis was biting on his lip, and swept in to him. “What happened to your lip, Noct? Let me see.” There were times that Noctis worried that maybe, just maybe, Ignis had an idea of what went on in those private meetings with Aldercapt…

Of course, Noctis didn’t respond, but he did let Ignis see his lip. The young man nearly had heartfailure and looked to Gladio with a silent plea for help. Gladio, finally taking notice, stepped in and grabbed Noctis’s jaw. It was the first time Noctis realized that he was hurt there, too, flinching as Gladio lifted his chin.

“…you hurt anywhere else?” he asked.

Noctis shook his head. It did no good to tell them. He’d resolved that many years ago. They couldn’t _do_ anything about it, so why torment them with the knowledge?

It was moments like that, though, that it was clear they at least suspected something was going on, as they glanced at each other and had the most dubious of expressions on their faces.

However, they knew he would never tell them what they wanted to know, and with a slight sag to both their shoulders, they just… moved on to what it was they needed to discuss with him.

“Noct, we’ve come to learn something from Gladio, who heard it from the radio outside the Citadel,” Ignis started with, speaking slowly and delicately. If not redundantly, because radios weren’t allowed in the Citadel, at least not where Noctis and Ignis could go.

“Lady Lunafreya is going to be coming to Insomnia,” Gladio said, ripping the proverbial bandaid off a hell of a lot quicker than Ignis.

Noctis swore that his heart stopped in that moment. He felt sick. After so many years of nothing but secondhand news, excluding the announcements of the marriage, the pregnancy, and the birth if the twins, he’d given up on the idea of ever being able to see her again. He’d honestly come to expect that she would never be allowed to leave Niflheim, where she was moved to and stayed, even though the emperor was in Lucis, and even though their children were moved back and forth between both countries. So, the news that she would be there in about a week…

…made him realize something.

With a pinched look, he held up two fingers. He didn’t react when Ignis pressed a handkerchief to his split lip, unaware that it was seeping blood down his chin.

“Two?” Gladio asked. “Two what?”

Noctis shook his head.

“Did you hear something about this already?”

Again, the prince shook his head.

Gladio looked helplessly at Ignis. “Noct, did someone mention a time span to you that could coincide with her arrival?”

Noctis shrugged a little without looking from Ignis.

“Two weeks?”

Noctis shook his head.

“Two days?”

Noctis nodded. He then pointed to himself, and then around the room, before gesturing as though he was locking a door.

Ignis grimaced at that and looked at Gladio. “I believe the emperor told him he plans to lock him in here starting two days from now.” Noctis nodding against his hand confirmed it. “So either the emperor is being exceedingly cautious about not allowing him to see her, or she’s arriving within two to three days.”

“Shit, well, we can’t plan anything within that timeframe,” Gladio muttered. “Especially if they’re gonna lock Noct up in here.”

“Perhaps we can,” Ignis said thoughtfully. “We’ll just have to retool our starting point.” When Ignis noticed that even Noctis was looking at him in confusion from over the handkerchief, Ignis sighed quietly. “We’re attempting to see if there’s a way to get in touch with her and see what her feelings are on… everything in general and then try to get you in her company if it appears she’s unhappy. It will be delicate, as it’s been a long time. She has… children with the man, as disgusting as that is. She might not want to rock the boat. But if she does…”

“Then this might be the slip up from the Empire we need,” Gladio remarked. “Especially since there are Niffs who, I know for a fact, are tired of the bullshit, too. It’s not like we’re alone, but the people need to be given a reason to fight. Right now, with the shock of what happened to Lunafreya being over with, they think you and her lead great lives.”

Noctis really didn’t react to that, looking down instead.

“Noct, if we find a sound opening, will you help us?” Ignis asked quietly, leaning over to try to catch the prince’s gaze.

Noctis wasn’t confident that they would find an opening that was _that sound_. Then again, what more did he have to live for if his entire life was going to be nothing but being a punching bag to Aldercapt and his court? And what if, by some miracle, they _did_ find an opening?

Maybe it’d be worth it for the chance to be killed.

Maybe it’d be worth it for the chance to save Luna.

And maybe it’d be worth it to save the people of Lucis, of Tenebrae, of Accordo? Of Niflheim, if there really were people that were tired of everything? Could they really have that many people who might be willing to fight if the time was right? Could there be people just waiting for one of the fallen leaders, or someone new, to stand up?

As hesitant as he might have been, Noctis slowly nodded.

It seemed that a lot had been riding in their plan on whether or not Noctis would agree, because the minute he nodded, it seemed as though several hundred pounds had lifted off their shoulders.

“Alright, you need to just keep doing what you do, and play along,” Gladio insisted to Noctis. His eyes shifted over the prince’s body, as if trying to see if there were in fact other injuries on his body, despite the suit Noctis was wearing. He wouldn’t be able to, over course.

Noctis offered a thumb up and then turned to gesture for them to leave. He was tired. He needed to sleep off the beating he was just delivered, and they had work to do.

“…right.” That was from Gladio, who led the way in his departure, rather roughly patting Noctis on the shoulder as he went. Noctis swore he did it on purpose, as his crystal blue eyes rolled back in his skill and he closed them to try to stifle the jolt of pain that ran through him.

Mercifully, Gladio kept walking and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

Unmercifully, Ignis stayed there, watching Noctis’s face with a worried frown and his forehead creased from stress. “Noct, if you’re hurt elsewhere, you know I won’t mock you or tell a soul. If you need medical care…” He trailed off as Noctis stared off to the side, his eyes spacing out to focus on absolutely nothing but space. That had long been the prince’s silent way of saying he was done with a conversation, and it was time for those around him to leave, because he had nothing else to offer.

It wasn’t because Noctis was being a brat. He just knew that giving him unauthorized medical care would get Ignis into real trouble. The only way the young man listened to Noctis’s miming was for Noctis to [appear to] tune him out entirely. It was obvious that it hurt Ignis, and Noctis hoped one day he could explain, but that day wasn’t it.

Ignis placed the handkerchief into Noctis’s hand and stepped around him slowly. “Very well,” he said quietly. “I’ll be downstairs in my room if you need me.” He made his way to the halfway point between the door and Noctis, before pausing to look back at him. “The Chancellor has been allowing me access to books and the like. Promised me a smartphone in due time for access to unfiltered news. I’ve expressed my distrust for him in the past, but it might be worth trying to pursue an amicable relationship with him. It appears to me that he might have some authority that supercedes Emperor Aldercapt. Nothing about their government suggests as much, but given that this has been no secret, his gifts to me, it doesn’t hurt to wonder.

Noctis nodded his agreement without looking at Ignis. He didn’t particularly care. Something was hugely wrong with Ardyn, even if he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Has he made similar gestures for you? Or at least offers?”

Noctis pulled out and held up his thin flip phone.

“A smartphone, then?”

Noctis nodded again.

“Please accept it, Noct.”

Tucking away his phone, Noctis shrugged. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. If it felt like a deal with the devil to get it, then he absolutely would not accept. He didn’t want to sell his soul. He had chances in the past to do so, and it would’ve made his life monumentally easier, but he refused then, too. All those people, including his father, didn’t die trying to protect him and those who survived just for him to roll over and accept what the enemy wanted.

Even though his response was disheartening and worrying to Ignis, and he could feel it emanating off his friend without even looking at him. Ignis lingered where he was, before slowly turning to leave the room, silent.

As soon as Noctis heard his bedroom door close, he was sagging and taking pressure off the injuries hiding under his clothes. He would’ve changed right then and there, but he’d nearly been caught by his friends in the past when they remembered they had something else to say, and entered without thinking to knock. Instead, he slowly loped over to his bed and crawled under the covers, his body both angry and thanking him once he laid down. It wasn’t an average day if he couldn’t find the right position to sleep in, because there was no right position to escape pain entirely.

And yet, he still would never give in to the Empire like they so wanted.


	7. The Innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone today remembers the time of yesterday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit lighter, a bit more about how a member of a slightly younger generation has processed things, unawares that maybe... just maybe... that's part of the plan.

At just thirteen years old, Iris Amicitia didn’t really remember a life before the Empire. She had been five when the Empire fell. That wasn’t a lot of time on that planet for her to understand the world then and compare it to the present.

She understood on a very clinical, by-the-books level. The Empire invaded, killed the seated king, and took over. To spare the fate that their father had at the deceased king’s side, Gladiolus Amicitia had to play by an incredibly specific set of rules to pacify the people in charge. Iris understood the words, but felt no real emotion about it because that was how it always was.

Well.

That was a lie, to an extent. She felt the emptiness left in the wake of her father’s death, and her mother’s before that. She couldn’t even really remember their faces, so all it was was a void in her heart that made her wish she could have the sorts of memories of them that her brother had. Beyond that, however, she just didn’t mourn the way her brother did. She also didn’t fully grasp how dire the situation was. With him watching over her, and fighting for her, their lifestyle never changed, and his evasiveness beyond the outlines of cold, hard facts left her scolding herself at times when she didn’t understand Prince Noctis’s refusal to speak, or Gladio’s moodiness. She didn’t understand that Ignis had once been impeccably up to date on many things, from politics to science, and what she saw in the present day was a young man smiling a broken-hearted smile for a great number of reasons.

She didn’t understand, and she didn’t feel guilt because no one bothered to correct her.

For as heartless as that might have all sounded, it was born within a girl who would be swayed to tears of empathy one night, but the next day be brought to a point of feeling utterly selfish for that fact when she was treated so nicely by members of the Empire.

Such as that day. After Gladio returned home the prior night, absolutely run down after news of the Oracle coming in to Insomnia in a few days, and trying to ‘calm Prince Noctis down’, Iris decided to dedicate the next day to trying to cheer Noctis up. While it was more than a little difficult to figure out what the prince was saying, his self-committed vow of silence never once breaking, the young girl could usually get him to snap out of his mopey attitude.

When she reached the Citadel’s main entrance at 1pm that day, she did so with a bookbag and a rolling suitcase. She skipped over to one of the guest counters, manned by a petite, thin blonde who was clearly from Niflheim.

“Good day,” Iris said to her with a smile. “Is Commodore Tummelt going to be my escort to Prince Noctis today?” She wasn’t allowed to roam the Citadel by herself, and that always made perfect sense to her. Most the time, Loki Tummelt provided that escort, and was so nice to her, she often thought Gladio was just so fussy for saying mean things about him. They were usually pretty funny mean things, though.

“Hello, Lady Iris,” the woman greeted, smiling sweetly to the little girl. “Unfortunately, Commodore Tummelt had an accident last night.”

“What happened?” Iris asked, horrified.

In what Iris didn’t understand was a calculated level of treatment of her, the woman leaned over the desk, looking around to make certain no one was watching them. “Now, I didn’t tell you this, but _I_ heard that he had gotten into some sort of fight with Commodore Highwind, and was found at the bottom of a long flight of stairs with his right leg broken in three parts. They suspect she did it, but there’s not much that can be done.”

“But if she hurt him…?” Iris trailed off, even more horrified than before.

“It’s considered as being ‘between commodores’.” The woman dropped back in her seat more comfortably then. “But I hear that she arranged for a guide yourself. He’ll be meeting you up on the prince’s floor.”

“I won’t need an escort before then?” Iris asked, surprised. Again, normally, Loki accompanied her everywhere she wanted to go there.

“Oh, you’ve been cleared to travel this floor, and use the elevators on your own,” the woman said warmly as she proceeded to sign Iris into the guest register. “But only to permitted floors. In this case, the floor of Prince Noctis’s room.”

Iris was so delighted at that. She had no concept of how disrespectful it actually was, given _who_ she was, so why wouldn’t she be?

Once she was issued her guest badge, she proceeded on for the elevators and waited for at least one in the long row of them to open. When it did, she stepped on to the empty car. She settled in after leaping up for the button to Noctis’s floor. She didn’t _have_ to leap, but it was turning out to be a pretty nice day for the thirteen year old.

About halfway to his floor, the elevator guided to a stop and opened to let someone on. Iris shuffled herself and her rolling case to the side, in order to make room, and was surprised when a man she swore was nearly as tall as her brother stepped on board.

He had fair blond hair and sky blue eyes, lighter than Noctis’s, and he was draped in white and black, with a sheathe hanging off his hip and a soldier’s posture.

The man looked at the buttons, and then simply turned to face the closing doors. Iris was staring so hard that she realized he probably _felt_ her sight boring into him, and quickly looked away, just ahead of him glancing down to her. “My destination is already selected,” he stated. His accent sounded… as if he was from Tenebrae?

Iris nodded and offered him a wary smile. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Because I’ve not been here before,” he replied, his tone blunt. No-nonsense. Not really mean, though.

“Um.” She offered her hand to the massive man, still trying to be warm and welcoming. “I’m Iris Amicitia. Welcome to the Citadel! Heh…”

The man looked down at the offered hand, clearly a but confused at first, but he eventually took it, being obviously delicate so as to not hurt her. “You’re the little sister of Gladiolus?”

“Yes, that’s right! You know him?”

“Not yet.” The man straightened again and looked at the elevator doors. Iris fell quiet with him, and looked to the floor, until the elevator doors opened again, that time for Noctis’s floor.

With the doors opening, the man held them open with one hand and turned with a step to the side. “Ladies first,” he advised.

“Thank you,” she said as she hustled past, so not to hold him up. She was a bit disappointed, only because that was the first time someone didn’t introduce themselves in kind to her.

That lingering detail was resolved once she was looking for her escort. The man went to walk away, but paused and looked down to the young girl. “I’m Commander Ravus Nox Fleuret, by the way.”

Iris gaped as he turned on his heel and started on his way. He was the brother of the Oracle? Wasn’t he also once the heir to the throne of Tenebrae? That explained his accent, the way he carried himself, and as she thought about it… yeah, he looked like Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, didn’t he? Like Gladiolus had things in common with Iris, like the shape of his eyes and the tone of his skin. It was hard to tell, only because she’d only ever seen glimpses of Lunafreya on the news and internet, but…

“Lady Iris?” another, older, male voice questioned behind her.

She turned quickly and looked up. That time, it was another blond man, but seemingly a bit younger, maybe about Noctis’s age. He had blue eyes, too, which was apparently the color scheme of the day for her: boys with blond hair and blue eyes. His were darker than both Ravus and Noctis, but he was really cute.

She didn’t even notice the control collar around his neck. She’d grown up seeing them, but never seeing them used, so they lost meaning to her despite the tales she heard.

“Yes?” she asked.

The teenage boy, in a vest of white and red, and black pants and tank top, bowed to her. “I’m your escort.”

“Really?” she asked. Look, she was a healthy teenage girl. If she wasn’t related, and they weren’t horrifically old—like, twenty or something—she tended to find reasons they were cute. Noctis especially. “What’s your name?”

“My name?” he asked, looking mildly surprised.

“So I know what to call you?”

“Oh. Ah. Prompto,” he answered, still taken aback. “My name is Prompto.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Prompto,” she said cheerfully. “I need to go to Prince Noctis’s room. Are you going to come in with?”

“No, my orders to stay outside the room and wait,” he replied, his cadence somewhat robotic, programmed. “Unless you feel unsafe entering somewhere, that is. And then I’m allowed to go in with you.”

“Sounds more like a bodyguard than an escort,” Iris giggled.

“Escorts protect,” Prompto pointed out.

She smiled a little more, and went to get beside him before starting to walk. “I guess they do.”

“Would you like me to help with your bags?” he offered, instead of continuing that other subject. “They appear heavy.”

“Yeah, I think that’d help,” she admitted. They weren’t too difficult, but it was only because that was how she was rigged up for school. “If you take the rolling case?”

Prompto nodded and switched to the other side of Iris, taking the case from her. “…may I ask what you have in here?”

“Chancellor Izunia said that Prince Noctis can have free access to books, as of last night,” she explained. She hooked her thumbs behind the straps of her bookbag and started along again. “So, I brought everything I have.”

“…oh, I see.”

Iris gave him a sideways glance, but drew quiet until they reached the doors to Noctis’s room. That was when she turned to him and asked, “Do you like reading?”

“Yes,” Prompto replied, emotionless but attentive.

“What about?”

The older boy shrugged. “Things I can learn from, I suppose.”

She thought for a moment, before going to the rolling case and carefully unzipping it a bit to dig around in the contents within. Finally, she pulled a book, which she produced to Prompto. “Here you go!” she said, grabbing her rolling case once he took it, so she could start for the door and get in to Noctis.

She heard the older boy protest, after seeing the book, but continued on without giving him a chance.

Who didn’t love a book that gave the inner and outer workings of dogs and the science behind different breeds?


	8. The Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The High Commander prepares for the arrival of the Oracle.

Seeing the little ones, like the girl on the elevator, was a good reminder of why Ravus Nox Fleuret was doing what he was doing.

While yes, once upon a time, he held a deep-rooted anger towards the failure of Regis Lucis Caelum and his son to protect him, his sister and his mother the day the Empire stormed Tenebrae, that anger faded with time. Particularly as he received trickling information from his own people stationed in Insomnia about the condition of Prince Noctis.

The fact that Emperor Aldercapt had declared Ravus’s beloved sister as his property helped quench the anger towards Noctis. It left him bitter that that old, decrepit man had defiled her, particularly when Regis and their mother had been speaking on Lunafreya and Noctis becoming betrothed. Ravus went from believing it was a fitting idea for the future Oracle and the Chosen King to unite in marriage, to being fervently against it, to wishing they could have been married _that day_ , despite Noctis being eight and Luna being twelve.

Anything was preferable to what happened to her just two years later.

Anything was preferable to the fact that she had to carry that man’s seed for seven and a half months, and had to bear the evidence of the twins she hosted cut from her body, because the Emperor didn’t want her figure damaged by giving traditional birth. Ravus had heard of royalty doing that before in time’s passed. He would have thought a scar was more abhorrent than labor’s marks.

The pregnancy hadn’t even been difficult, beyond the brunt of carrying twins with such a tiny frame. He simply didn’t want her stretching her skin more than necessary, or her hips to get wider.

It was _disgusting_. And the day he saw the somber look on his sister’s face as she held her children for the first time, Ravus swore he would find a way to end the Empire.

Unfortunately, one did not just start a revolution against a regime that covered an entire half of a planet. It needed planning, careful planning, and laying in wait. Such as waiting for the day he would be summoned to Insomnia for the first time, just ahead of his sister’s visit.

Both for his seemingly undying loyalty to the Empire, and his status as technically the brother-in-law to the emperor, Ravus wore the rank of Chief Commander of the Empire of Niflheim’s Offensive and Defensive Forces. That was the ‘fancy’ way of saying ‘he commanded the entire military of the Empire’. He did his best to never appear to deviate from a brainwashed loyalty that came with a lot of torture through the course of three years, until he relented to the act. They didn’t break him. They simply made him more determined.

When he reached his destination, after parting ways with the Amicitia girl, the guards at Iedolas Aldercapt’s door moved to open the room up to him, and he went inside, straight and formal as always.

Inside the large bedroom that even he knew once belonged to the rightful King of Lucis, the emperor was seated at a desk, writing in some sort of journal. Ravus approached him swiftly and bowed, a fist to his chest. “Security preparations are under way for Lady Lunafreya’s arrival,” he advised.

“How long has it been since you last saw your sister?” Aldercapt asked without even raising his eyes.

Ravus straightened slowly, pushing back anything that would show his suspicion of that question. “Three years.” Three very long, empty years.

“You must be ecstatic to see her, then.”

“If I’m honest,” was the response, tone agreeing.

“Which is precisely why I asked for you to ensure the proper security measures are taken. It’s been nearly two decades since an Oracle set foot in Lucis. The savages that we have yet to rid of from our glorious empire will, no doubt, attempt a way to reach her.”

“I’m certain she’d have nothing to do with them.”

“Her loyalty isn’t in question, Ravus,” Aldercapt insisted. He finally lowered his pen and turned in his seat to face Ravus. “However, there’s still a belief here that whomever holds Oracle and Prince, holds the true power over the people. They needn’t cooperation to gain possession. The fact that she will be arriving with Daimona and Spectro with her makes her an even higher target, as I know she would throw herself on a fire for them.”

Ravus hated those names for the twins. It was so obvious where the Empire’s, and Aldercapt’s, priorities were. Luna had wanted to name the girl Sylvia, after their mother, and Ravus, after him. Aldercapt heard nothing of it, and stripped her right to naming either, even after she asked to be allowed to at least name one.

What was possibly the only fair thing the emperor did was listen when Lunafreya told him that most annexed countries would frown over Spectro being declared heir, when he was technically the second to leave her body. The title of heir rightfully belonged to the first born, with the duties of the Oracle being unknown as to which would get it until they were older. He listened that much, but Ravus’s proverbial pats of the back to Aldercapt were hardly heartfelt.

“I will make sure that everything is handled to make sure no one breaks through the perimeter,” Ravus assured Aldercapt.

“I’d like you to speak to Commodore Highwind,” Aldercapt said then. “Ask about her new mentee, and her dogs. See if they would be suitable to help secure Lunafreya’s entry point.”

Ravus managed to keep a sober face instead of laughing right in Aldercapt’s face at the insinuation that he wouldn’t give his sister’s safety the utmost priority. Instead, he bowed, low and formal. “I will go do so right now.”

He turned, with the intent to start his departure from the room, but was halted by Aldercapt. “One last thing, Ravus.”

“Yes?” He didn’t bother to turn back, because he intended to leave right after whatever the emperor had left to say.

“Don’t think your refusal to address me in any fashion—name or title—has gone unnoticed.”

Ravus glanced over his shoulder, the tone Aldercapt used unreadable. Did he want a fight, or was he stating a fact? Because Ravus knew exactly what he was doing when he didn’t use his name or title.

It apparently was a statement, and possibly a thinly veiled warning, as by the time he glanced back at him, the emperor had turned back to his desk and began writing again. Ravus left it at that, then, and continued on his way. They both knew what was going on there.

One could be cordial, and not respectful.

——

It took some asking around, and some clearances permitted, before Ravus found himself standing outside the secure door for the wing that led to Aranea Highwind’s ‘workspace’, as the front desk attendant called it. The elder Nox Fleuret found himself beyond irritated when he swiped the keycard he was issued, and the reader came back as it being invalid.

He swiped faster, slower; up to down, down to up. He even pushed it in from the side to see if the reader was stupid like some of the ones in Gralea. To no avail, however, and he was tempted to draw his sword and slam his way through the doors.

That wouldn’t be necessary, however, when he noticed the blond boy that had been lurking by the elevators for Iris Amicitia approaching. He was barely visible up there, and Ravus pretended to not see him at all, but he did. Knowing of the genetic experiments of Verstael Besithia, it was more than a little surprising to see the clone, but there was clearly a reason he was allowed to roam, and not just because of the _slave collar_ around his neck.

“…are you trying to get through?” the boy asked. He couldn’t have been older than Prince Noctis.

“I was _told_ this card was coded to let me through.” Ravus held up the card to the boy.

Eyeing the card, the boy nodded. “That should let you through,” he said softly. “May I step to the reader?”

“By all means.” Ravus stepped back and gestured.

The boy stepped over and raised the back of his wrist up to the side of the slot for the card. A green bar of light scanned down, and then up, and immediately upon disappearing, the sound of the doors unlocking and popping free emitted into the hall. The boy stepped over to the doors and pushed one and released it, while carrying the other open, and then bowed to Ravus.

“Here, High Commander.”

With a hum, Ravus stepped through, and turned to watch the boy push and secure the doors closed. “What is your designation?” he asked him.

“Model N-iP01357, unit 05953234,” the boy replied, staying where he was.

“I know they must not call you by that.” Clone or not, the boy would be considered a child of Niflheim. Despite the collar, he would be viewed by the people there as better than even the Prince of Lucis. If not for the blood of the Oracle in his veins, and the former title of heir to Tenebrae, the boy would be viewed better than him.

“Prompto, sir. Prompto Argentum.”

Ravus regarded the blond, with his eyes fixed on the ground in some beta-style of respect. That was the infantry and special tactics wing, he was told. The boy wouldn’t have access if he didn’t belong there. “Are you a housekeeper, or a soldier for the Empire, Prompto?”

“A soldier, sir.”

“Then eyes up,” Ravus ordered, snapping his fingers up by his own face to direct Prompto where to look. The blond’s head snapped up and gazed up to him. “Then take pride in yourself. Perhaps you’ve been ordered not to look the Emperor or others in the eye, but you will do so with me. Understood?”

“…yes, sir.” It was clear that Prompto was struggling with that direction, but was doing his best to abide by it.

“I’m seeking Commodore Highwind. Do you know where I can find her?”

“Yes, sir. I was going to her myself. Please follow me.”

Prompto went to take the lead. Ravus took in a deep breath in place of sighing and stayed with him. The walk was a short, and silent, one. Ravus was glad, too, because he might’ve missed some of the charming conversation that they ended up walking into when Prompto entered a set of doors and held one for him yet again.

“You know precisely what you did, you _crazy bitch_ ,” one Loki Tummelt was sneering from the head of a large, ornately carved wood desk.

“I can’t really help that you were so drunk that you’re now filling in the blanks to make excuses for yourself,” Aranea replied casually, resting back in her large desk chair, and with her legs crossed at the ankles atop the desk itself. Her fingers were laced together, resting on her stomach, and she had the most smug look on her face.

“I wasn’t drunk,” Loki sneered. One had to imagine he would’ve been leaning over that desk to get right in her face, if not for the crutches and the massive cast on his leg. “I wasn’t drunk, and you know I wasn’t. You threw me over the railing.”

“I’d say ‘prove it’, but you and I both know you can’t.”

“Because you’re a _conniving whore_.”

“Because I didn’t do it. But even if I did, there wouldn’t be any evidence.” She glanced briefly at Ravus, and then waved Loki off casually. “Now, run along. The big kids need to talk.”

“We are _not_ done here, Highwind!”

She sighed as she rolled her eyes, and gestured to his side. Loki looked over, and froze briefly at the sight of Prompto, who had honed in on him without deviating at all. A series of low grumbles escaped him as he turned on his crutches and started for the doors, barely even paying Ravus any mind.

“Follow him out and wait outside for me, please,” she requested of Prompto.

“Yes, Commodore.”

Prompto bowed, and did as he was told, trailing after Loki. Loki sped up his hobbling speed to stay as far ahead of Prompto as possible, and Ravus wondered what would have happened if the boy was a bit more humored and tried to run after him.

Once the doors were shut, Ravus looked to Aranea. “’Over the railing’?” he quoted.

“He’s trying to get my Glaives decommissioned, and was talking shit about the boy.” She gestured to one of the guest seats as she spoke, which Ravus took her up on by sitting and resting back.

“As is his right, I suppose. On the social ladder of things, he still comes before the boy.”

“Either way, the kid’s gonna have to do some nasty shit by my orders. I don’t want him getting crap by a child only where he is because of mommy and daddy.” She started to stretch out her neck a bit. “What can I do for you?”

“The emperor ordered that I come speak to you about your ‘new mentee’ and your ‘dogs’ assisting in securing the landing site for my sister’s arrival tomorrow. So it seems he still has faith.”

“’Still’? That’s the first time he’s suggested the Glaives for anything that wasn’t a suicide mission.”

“I theorize he thinks you’ve beaten the spirit out of them.”

“I guess so.”

The truth of the matter was that Aranea was as good at playing the game as Ravus. Although she was native to Niflheim, she was older and had plenty of time to enjoy the world before the Empire outright won. She waited for the day Ravus began to play the game, after his years of ‘reeducation’, to approach him and let him know the correct way to play ball with the Empire.

While neither could take on the Empire alone, or even together, they had learned how to work without having to say much. How to sync up good plans with a glance, or through coded language, whenever necessary.

“We certainly don’t want Lady Lunafreya falling into some random people who are ready to be martyrs,” she commented. “But it would seem that you would do everything in your power to put the best people on the job.”

“Most the ground forces now are Magitek Infantry,” he admitted. “Too many have started to succumb to the scourge, or fall victim to the few holdouts left out there. There’s a particularly heinous group holding out in Duscae. They say the fighters there fight with the skill of the Crownsguard of Insomnia.”

“Great.” Aranea clucked her teeth at that and thought for a while. When she spoke, she did so with a dramatic sigh. “Well, I would hate for one of the dogs to get too close to your sister and step out of line. I could lend them to you, but there are times they step out of line still, no matter the rave reviews Aldercapt issues.”

“It would be a shame if they said something unfortunate and overheard,” Ravus phrased with the utmost caution as he watched her.

“Well. Come what may, they’ll still do their best for the Oracle,” she said with a cluck of her tongue. “And Prompto. He’s best at long range, because he more than exceeds up close.” Ravus tilted his head at that. “He’s a trained killer. Don’t look at me like you don’t know what I meant.”

“Ah.”

“What time is she due to arrive?”

“At dusk. Early enough that most the city will still be hiding from daemons, late enough that the daemons will be clear by the time the convoy makes its way here to the Citadel.” Because, of course, the landing zone just _had_ to be clear across the city. “I was told the children will be with her.”

“Oh. They’ll likely want to stay close to her.”

“They _might_ like to see their uncle.”

Aranea smirked a bit, and leaned over the desk to offer her hand out to Ravus. “Prompto and the dog will be at the ready at the guests desks tomorrow, an hour before.”

Ravus stood then and went to shake her hand firmly. “Let’s see what they can truly contribute then.”

“I’ll make sure they’re fully educated.”

It was going to be an interesting morning; Ravus could see that much.

Exactly _how_ interesting it was going to get, however, was going to surprise even him and Aranea, of all people.


	9. The Glaive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is brewing, but he's not allowed to know much at all, aside from his personal role in kicking it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Okay, so this character isn’t one I’ve given too much thought to in the past. I’ve RPed him a little, privately (as I only do nowadays), but as for anything focused around his POV? Yikes. But I figure it’ll be a good challenge, yeah? Y’all are so kind to fanfic authors that maybe don’t get things 100%, so I appreciate all of you to heck and back.
> 
> Also, I’m sorry in advance. This week ended up being awful for me, but I can’t seem to write something funny, even though I really need a laugh gkjgsepgekgjsdg’jm So, this ended up pretty distracted at best.

Of all the fates they could have faced, having Aranea Highwind as their ‘owner’ was one of the more favorable.

Nyx Ulric was right with the others when it came to not trusting a damn thing the Empire had to say. That had, at one time, included Aranea. Through the years, however, she had proven herself to be a conniving, devious woman in the positive.

“Survive and do what I tell you, and I’ll do whatever I can to make this easier. Just pretend that you’re mindlessly devoted and survive, and I’ll repay you. Maybe not always in large ways, but I will repay you.”

He and the others decided they had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. They learned fairly quick why the commodore of the Emprie’s airborne division commanded the loyalty she did.

As she led in with, the gains weren’t always large. It started with an increase of food and water, and soon led to them being released from chains against walls and into small cages. As the years went on, she was able to prove they were worth more and more: more food, more armor, more water, more weapons, more space.

Once she was assigned her own space as well, where she could hold them theoretically without intrusion, she began to allow them out of the cages, contingent on her being in the room with them. She left, they went back in willingly.

Most recently, her promise to have the cages of those who fell the last time they were dispatched taken down and used to expand the survivors’ cages had begun to take shape when she allowed construction workers in to work out how to actually do the expansions, and how large they would have to be to include all the things she asked for.

It was a shame Aranea hadn’t been in charge of them, of her ‘dogs’, the entire time. Nyx was convinced more of them would’ve survived. As it was, what started as hundreds were now to eight; six men and two women. Honestly, given that they were pitted against daemons and large numbers of rebels, and they didn’t even have their Crown-bestowed Crystal powers any longer, it was a damn miracle any of them survived. It was mostly because of Aranea, too, for all she did for them. In return, they did what they could for her. It was clear she was a rebel under the Empire-emblazoned armor. She was waiting for her moment, and she intended for the Glaives that remained to be there whenever it happened.

What was particularly surprising was, at three in the morning, when Aranea came in and pulled Nyx and Nyx alone from his cage, and directed him to get showed and dressed, passing him a clothes bag. He did so, glad to have a chance to do so without the group with him. That wasn’t Aranea’s fault, though. She had to keep them in certain ways in case someone did happen to intrude. He didn’t hold it against her. There were bars in the large, recently-installed massive shower that would be holding shower curtains in a week’s time.

Once done with the impromptu shower, which felt much better without injuries in which the soap they used could burn, and fully dried, he went for the clothes bag and pulled it open.

“What is this?” he asked. Because there was no changing room, of course, he had to change out in the main room. Fortunately for all of them, Aranea wasn’t sick, either.

She was fast at work on a tablet, and only looked over to him when addressed. “It’s necessary, that’s what. Get it on fast.” And then she was back to work.

Nyx looked back to the uniform, which matched his former Kingsglaive uniform in style, but was color coded like hers, with black and red, and a touch of white, with the Empire’s insignia where the Lucii’s crest and the crest of the Glaives once were patterned.

Given that they had to wear rags under heavy, uncomfortable armor when they were deployed, feeling the outfit that fit him near-perfectly around him was… nice.

As soon as his boots were laced, and the hood and face mask pulled up, into place, Aranea was escorting him out of the room. She kept shoulder-to-shoulder with him, and he kept his eyes to the floor to denote respect and obedience to her.

That silence continued until they were in the back of a limousine, and Aranea had run a scan for bugs. She leaned forward to him, still speaking quietly to be safe.

“In two hours, the Oracle will be landing,” she explained. “Her children will be with her. I’m lending you and Prompto to this. Something’s going to happen, possibly, that will get the kids running ahead of her and leaving her open to a side-by-side escort, and that’s where you come in.” Nyx remained silent, but fixated on her for further directions. “I want you to tell her, ‘Hold on a little longer, princess.’ Be quiet, be close, and make sure you see how she reacts. Once you’re back here, I need to know every little twitch, every eye movement. Got it?”

“…you’re planning something?”

“Don’t know yet. What you have to say will tell me what’s next.”

Nyx stared at Aranea in a silent few moments, considering. That was an awfully dangerous game for him to be participating in. Then again… it was the Oracle. The Oracle, who was in an unimaginably horrible situation. As it was, before the takeover, Lucis remained strong supporters of the former Oracle’s children and people. Insomnia itself was the last place to consider Ravus and Luna as prince and princess of Tenebrae, Nyx included, despite his place of origin being Galahd.

“Right. Anyone I should look out for?”

“Ravus will put his own at the landing zone, and he’ll be there. Just act the way you know you have to, until that moment. Act like the trained pooch everyone thinks you are.”

Nyx was always understandably insulted by that term, but he knew it was Aranea’s verbiage that kept the heat off of them. By referring to the Glaives as her ‘dogs’, it gave them the chances to ‘bite’ people who screwed with them, and she would use some analogy about them only not biting the hand that feeds them, or something to that effect, in order to dismiss blame. On the rare occasion, she would get violent, but it was generally because one of them messed up enough that it was either a smackdown by her, or death.

At one time, Nyx would’ve been fine with death, but that was when they were assuming Prince Noctis would be executed. With him being permitted to live, couple with Aranea’s treatment of them, it gave him hope. It was seeming as though that hope might have been well-founded. Far be it from Nyx to actually express that, however. To even focus on it was going to jinx everything, as he saw it.

“You got it, boss,” he agreed after his pause.

——

The landing zone for nobles, royalty and high-level military was sat to the north, by the shore that surrounded Insomnia. Having been one of the points of entry after the Wall was successfully dropped, the massive, physical wall that once separated the city proper with the ocean had been blown away. After the annexation, instead of rebuilding it as it had been, the debris was cleared out and the wall bubbled out to dam away some of the water, and a airship landing zone was placed. Bright lights, turrets, and tinmen guarded the entire area to make it as daemon-proof as possible. Allegedly, it was the safest place from the city to make discreet landings and departures, as well.

Nyx thought it was stupid, but no one asked him. Even if they had, he would’ve suggested something even more ridiculous in the hopes the emperor would get eaten by some Red Giants or something.

The first thing he noticed as he walked from Aranea’s limousine was, up on one of the parapets, a shock of blond hair could be seen behind a rather impressive sniper rifle. It was jolting with a kick, although the sound of the discharged rounds he was firing came with a suppressed pop that didn’t radiate far. The normally explosive bangs, which hit the ears like a shockwave even from Nyx’s point, at least fifty yards away, were cut off by the suppressor leading his barrel. Still, he was wearing ear protection, as well as glasses, no doubt because of Aranea.

Following the laser of his rifle, Nyx could see he was shooting at daemons emerging from a dark corner of the landing zone. Across the concrete space, one of the far corners was dark as workers did their best to fill the area with flood lights, no doubt with repairs pending when the sun finished rising.

He had to give it to the kid. Aranea wasn’t lying about him being a good shot.

It was easy to spot Ravus after he started looking elsewhere. The tall, white-clad man was of an imposing stature and carried himself not like a soldier, but like a king. He was flanked by two men in imperial armor, from head to toe, and Nyx expected some sort of violence from them as he approached to bid Ravus to prepare him with his station.

They proved Aranea’s word, however. Yet again, as she had so many times over the last seven of eight years, she had proven she wasn’t there to lie to the surviving Glaives.

Oh, they watched him, but they didn’t even straighten. What little of their eyes that he could see didn’t even slant in amusement. Honestly, the one on the right almost appeared to pity him.

Putting a fist to his heart once he was in front of Ravus, he stooped down to his knees and then bowed. Insomnian slaves were ‘meant to be on their knees’, he’d heard more than once.

“High Commander Nox Fleuret, I bid of you orders for placement, so that the transition from airship to motor vehicle for Lady Lunafreya and the Imperial Children will be swift and safe,” he said, watching the ground.

“Up,” Ravus ordered, clasping his hands behind his back.

Immediately, Nyx stood back up, but kept his fist to his chest. The other was rested against his back.

“I will not order you to a stationary position,” Ravus stated, firm and impersonal. “You are here simply to thrust yourself in front of my sister, as well as my niece and nephew, should a threat or a potential of a threat come to pass. My men, and the magitek soldiers, know to regard but not interrupt. I’ve been informed that the little gunman has been advised the same.”

That was a window. Aranea was implying Ravus was in on the plan. Nyx really did hope that, however Lunafreya behaved, it was in a way that would help. He also hoped that it would lead to results of some sort.

But still, he wouldn’t hang on too tightly to that hope.

Reaffirming his chest on his chest, Nyx bowed his head stiffly. “For Empire, for Emperor.” It was a sickening bastardization of the Glaives motto and chant of, “For hearth and home.”

The emperor had demanded the ‘dogs’ have something respectful to say. Aranea was the one to set up, “For Empire, for Emperor.”

“It’ll make Aldercapt feel like I’ve broken you all sufficiently enough that you’ll say something like that. Lucians, especially Insomnians, and especially the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive, are notoriously stubborn. If you say that, he’ll feel a hell of a lot of satisfaction, and back off how you all speak if overheard. Well. So long as you’re not mutinous little shits in front of the wrong people.” She had also been right about that.

Ravus simply looked away as Nyx took that to mean to begin to wander and get to know the lay of the land, so to speak, and he did so, even though he hardly felt reason to be too committed for the moment. There wasn’t much to see, even as dawn began to break. The times had waffled, he overheard people say. Between arrival at dusk and at dawn. That was interesting. He wondered why dusk would’ve been up for debate at all. Dawn was the safest of the dubious light-dark blended times of day.

It wasn’t much longer before the airship in question appeared in the slowly brightening sky, devoid of imperial insignias as was apparently standard for the people who were to land there. The whole purpose of the blasted landing zone was the fact that the wanted discretion and safety.

By the time that the shuttle actually landed, Prompto had long since ceased firing his weapon. He was still scanning all areas that he could see for anything—any daemons, any intruders—but with the way he was behaving, it didn’t appear he was seeing anything even remotely suspicious.

The shuttle landed without much fanfare, aside from magitek soldiers surrounding the landing pad and forging a path straight to Ravus. Nyx wandered around, behind the line closest to him, so that he could then ghost along with Lunafreya, and look for an opening like what Aranea described.

The ramp lowered from the side of the shuttle, and after minutes that honestly felt like hours, the Oracle emerged. At just twenty-two years old, she didn’t look like a young mother. She still had her youth about her, she looked well-rested and cared for, but there was a haunting vacancy in her eyes. Even as she strode out, a child of hers on each hand, and gazed down as they addressed her, there was little to nothing by way of emotion or spirit. Even when she smiled, it was clear something was broken. And why wouldn’t there be? Nyx wasn’t a father or a brother, but he could only imagine the rage her circumstances had to cause in Ravus.

Nyx took care to inspect every part of Lunafreya’s behavior. Yes, Aranea told him to do so only after he could speak to her, but he wanted a baseline to compare with. How else would he be able to describe something different about her?

“My, if it isn’t my dear niece and nephew,” Ravus called out once all three had left the ramp. He took a knee and held out his arms. “I know it’s been a while, but might I get a hug?”

The heir and the boy, Daimona and Spectro Aldercapt, looked just like their mother, with bright blonde hair and sky blue eyes. The difference between her and them was the delight that they displayed at the sights around them, which only increased when they realized who was addressing them. With their mother releasing the eight year olds, they took off running for their uncle to greet him.

Nyx took that moment to slip through the infantry line and went to take her arm firmly, but gently, with one hand. Her lack of resistance told him she was used to that. It was sad. No woman, especially the Oracle, should have ever been used to that.

Nyx leaned closer as he scanned around for anyone who could actually understand his words. Assured the coast was clear, he whispered, “Hold on a little longer, princess.”

She looked at him at that soft message, and for a very brief moment, he thought he saw the hope in her eyes that he was always keeping away from his. That glint was so, so brief, and soon enough, she went back to staring ahead to her children.

Nyx sincerely hoped that that was what Aranea was looking for. He really did, because that look in the Oracle’s eyes was something that should have never existed, and he knew too many people would agree if they could ever see her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that means you-know-who is next...


	10. The Oracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunafreya arrives in Insomnia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo boy. So, here's our girl.
> 
> Warnings: Narrative-discussed rape of a minor, POV-limited spousal rape (not as explicit as it could be, by any stretch, but it's there).
> 
> Luna is a very broken Oracle.

Growing up, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret had her whole life charted out in the stars… or so her mother used to say. The heavens were forged for the Oracle, and he or she were as bound to them as they to her. She would stay up with a telescope, gazing at the night sky for hours; sometimes alone, and sometimes with her brother.

Meeting Noctis Lucis Caelum, she felt the stars shift and change into a lovely chain meant for the two of them. Best friends at the age of their meeting, sworn to stand side-by-side, as Oracle and Chosen King of Light.

When Tenebrae fell, it was as though the chain linking them together faltered, but managed to hold on enough on the promise that they would be together one day. His writings in their notebook were so cute, so charming. She always wondered what sort of king he would be, and did her best as his Oracle to guide him, even as the world folded in tighter and tighter around her.

And then, Insomnia, Lucis fell.

That was the day the chain of stars that held her hope and her destiny broke away, holding on by a thread. That thread being Noctis, and the fact that he was alive.

The day she was told she would wed Aldercapt was the day that last thread broke.

She was fourteen. No one told her it was going to happen, until the moment that her room was invaded with tailors and a dress premade that they quickly fit to her body. The beauty artists who did her makeup and her hair wore the same expressions as those tailors, and her personal guards as well: a solemn regret, tainted with guilt in their, no doubt, forced participation. They were decorating her to send her into the claws of the man who destroyed the world as they all knew it, and he was merging the Oracle’s bloodline to his through marriage.

Luna had hoped that the marriage would be symbolic.

She was proven wrong that night. It was painful, it was bloody, and all she could do was lay there and allow it to happen. Her powers were made to fight daemons and Astrals, not mortal men, and because of that, her soul was broken, ripped apart as her body was, and the pieces left as tainted as her insides when he was through.

All she could think of was the last time her mother and King Regis spoke of her and Noctis. They spoke of betrothal. In such a volatile time, it would have been politically fit for the two to be wed once Noctis was of age. While Luna certainly didn’t think of the child that way, she had wished that was part of her fate in the stars as she was defiled by the man she would be forced to call husband.

Carrying twins had been hard on her body. She was young, and small, so it was incredibly hard on her. Although the emperor’s reason for it was vain, Luna was grateful for the decision to remove Daimona and Spectro by cesarean section. It was a great mercy.

As for her twins…

Never, ever would Lunafreya have thought she couldn’t love her own children.

There were times she thought she did, but then there were times, such as when she stepped into the limousine waiting for them at the landing zone of Insomnia, that she realized there was nothing there. She loved the man who whispered to her to wait a little longer more than the two little ones who held her blood.

Despite that, she realized that they loved her. They weren’t bad children. Despite the spoiling they went through as the emperor’s children and heirs, they followed their mother’s guidance to the letter. Spectro showed signs of being the future Oracle, which was good. Daimona was the heir to the throne of the Empire, so it was best for the second-in-line to be Oracle. There had been Oracle Kings and Oracle Queens in the past, but there were journals upon journals of them discussing how being both hindered their duties as Oracle greatly.

So, he exhibited the gentleness of an Oracle, and the fearlessness of one in the face of the darkness, with twinges of Light magic when caring for his birds. Both children were respectful and sweet, and so she did her best to never let them know that she was constantly admonishing herself for thoughts such as wishing she’d been barren, so they would’ve never been born.

It was a vicious thought process, and she hated herself for it, despite the fact that it was a perfectly reasonable response to her situation.

“I would like the man in the mask to travel with us,” she advised her brother as she settled in her seat. “Please.”

“He’s not meant for traveling with us,” Ravus warned, although his voice was gentle, while the children were clinging to him happily.

“Please,” she repeated. The emperor would say nothing about it. For as caged as she was, he allowed her to be the Oracle, and the Oracle was charitable.

And if the man was Lucian, she wanted her children to meet Lucians. To see them as human. Perhaps, when Daimona took the throne, she would be everything her father wasn’t. Aldercapt (because, in Luna’s mind, he wasn’t Iedolas; she only called him that to his face) was old. Daimona would be in his seat sooner rather than later. Making sure she saw humans and not animals was important.

Ravus nodded, and reached around Spectro to roll down the window there. He then pointed out, and waved.

Soon, the hooded and masked man that escorted her to the limo entered, sitting opposite of her, on the same bench seat. Satisfied, Luna said, “We can go now.”

Only after Ravus ordered the limo to begin driving, did Luna speak again. “Will I be able to see Prince Noctis?” she asked. “The children have said they’ve never met him, in all the times they’ve visited.”

“I don’t think so, sister,” Ravus replied. “As I understand it, he’s under house arrest.”

No doubt only due to her visiting, Luna figured. She sighed a little and looked to her hands for a moment. What kind of young man did he turn into? Did he take after his father, or his mother? Despite the fact that they still wrote back and forth through Umbra, there was a poignant disconnect those days, and it made her heart ache. She had no doubts his life was just as miserable as hers, just in a different way.

She had no doubt that, if the risk of an entire rebellion of the people wouldn’t start as a result, she would have been executed alongside him as soon as the children were done weening.

After stifling her disappointment, she looked to the man sitting in the cabin with them. “May I see your face?” she asked politely.

There was some conflict that flashed through his eyes, but he ended up bowing. “Yes, Highness,” he said as he reached up to pull the mask from his nose and mouth, and the hood from his head.

He was clearly older than Ravus, though by how much, Luna couldn’t guess. Perhaps five years? He was in his thirties, no doubt. “And your name?” she asked.

“I have no name,” he replied. It was clearly a calculated response based on his status.

“You did at one time,” she pressed. “I would like it.”

He glanced at Ravus, who she saw nod shortly in her peripheral vision. It made her incredibly curious, but she didn’t show it.

“Nyx, your Highness. Nyx Ulric,” the man replied.

The fact that he continued to call her ‘Highness’ reinforced that he was Insomnian. They were the last, outside of Tenebrae itself, to recognize the royal status stripped from her and her brother. “And before these days, what did you do as a profession, Nyx Ulric?”

“I was a member of the Kingsglaive.”

 _Oh_. That was… that explained everything. No one had gone without hearing how the Glaives fell to custody under the Empire, and how they were sent on suicide missions like some sort of sport. It was monstrous. Noctis used to write how much he admired the Kingsglaive, as well as the Crownsguard, before the fall of his home.

“Well. Thank you for assisting in the protection of myself and my children,” she ended up saying instead. She looked over to her twins, who were watching Nyx in interest. “Nyx Ulric, these are my children. Princess Daimona, Heir Apparent, and Prince Spectro.”

Nyx bowed in his seat to the both of them, as low and respectful as possible. “It’s an honor to meet you,” he said, although his voice was as devoid of emotion as hers often was those days.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Daimona said as she held onto her uncle’s arm.

“Do you have cool weapons like Uncle Ravus?” Spectro asked, on Ravus’s other arm, and wide-eyed.

“I carry daggers,” Nyx replied. “But I can use any weapon I’m given if I have to.”

“ _Cool_.” That response triggered a small smile from Luna. Even if Daimona became corrupted with the education she would receive to become empress, it was important for the Oracle to be kind to people of all walks of life. To never carry himself, or herself, with superiority over any others. Her mother, Queen and Oracle in one, emphasized that many times to Luna. Even though she felt hate, she did so with a heavy heart, with a desire for things not to be the way they were.

“The Kingsglaive were once receivers of the king’s magic here in Lucis,” Luna coached to her children. “They could do many of the things the king himself could do.”

“But not now?” Spectro asked.

“No,” Luna replied gently, shaking her head. “Long has it been since Prince Noctis, the Heir Apparent here, been cut from his family’s Crystal.”

“So he can’t be a threat to father,” Daimona reminded the younger twin.

“Oh. Right.”

“But even though the Lucians are held in a lower caste, remember to speak to them with dignity befitting any with a soul,” Luna reminded them, tender in how she spoke. “We are all the same, at the end. We all bleed the same color, and we’re all born of the same way.”

“But they’re pretty mean to Lucians here, mother,” Spectro advised, as though she couldn’t possibly know that.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean you have to. Yes, they are of… a lower place…” She had to really eat down the disgust in saying that. “But again, they are humans, just as we are. You two are the future of the Empire, and will have the opportunity to quench tensions. Not through violence and oppression, but peace and respect. You needn’t give up power to do this, either. Humans respond to kindness and fair leadership far better than through a heavy hand and enslavement.”

“Is this one of those talks we don’t tell father?” Daimona asked, tilting her head.

“He knows what I say,” Luna replied. “All I ask is that you leave his response to this between him and me, alright?”

The twins nodded, Spectro still wide-eyed.

Luna knew why. It was something they wouldn’t speak of for a very long time, either.

———

The Citadel was gorgeous, particularly in the light of the rising sun. It was massive, and ancient, with modern improvements that paid respect to the old. Luna wished she could have better appreciated it. As it was, she was helped out of the limo by Nyx, and found herself greeted by protective rows of magitek soldiers, flanking the stairs, and commanding officers of the military at the front of it all.

They bowed, with one struggling to do so with his crutches under his arms. Luna had seen him before. Loqi Tummelt. She wondered who he enraged for that to happen, because he was quite insufferable to most everyone but those above him. He’d always been kind to her, but didn’t even try to put on airs when he had to speak to others around her.

“I’ll be escorting you to Emperor Aldercapt, Lady Lunafreya,” Loqi said, still bowing.

Luna glanced at the other officers, wondering why the others weren’t. Did they know nothing good happened once she was delivered to the den of the devouring monster that was their leader?

“With or without my children?” she asked.

“Without for now. They’ll be taken care of,” a female officer replied. When Luna looked at her, trying to figure out who she was, she added, “Commodore Highwind, my Lady.”

“Ah.” She didn’t know the woman, but she knew her name and reputation. “Thank you,” she said, before turning her attention to Loqi. She walked over to him, feeling terribly bad about thinking of him hauling up all those stairs, and all that distance, in that condition. She held up her hands and asked, “May I?”

“Uh—yes, Lady Lunafreya,” he replied, eyes wide.

Tenderly, she rested her hands on his cheeks, her fingers lighting in gold and white shimmers. She could hear her children whispering excitedly, as they didn’t get to see her perform her magic often. With a gentle goading, she rested her forehead to Loqi’s and closed her eyes, focusing on healing the injury in his leg, and relieving his body of the pains caused by having to use those crutches everywhere.

She felt his body relax quite a bit, and soon pulled back to look at his face. “You’ll be able to remove that cast,” she explained. “However, use the crutches before, just so you don’t struggle. The mending will take a few hours to harden, so it’s best to stay on the crutches until evening.”

“Thank you so much, Lady. I’m indebted,” he rambled quickly, bowing his best again. “Shall I lead you?”

He jumped subjects rather rapidly, but she was patient and used to it. People often got flustered at the instant healing and relief of the Oracle’s hand. While she couldn’t do it as often as she would have liked, she’d been able to do it enough to know that it was flustering to them.

“Yes, please,” she replied, bowing her head. She looked to Daimona and Spectro. “Be good for your uncle and carers.”

After their promises that they would, she began to follow Loqi up the long staircase that served as the entry to the Citadel, walking slowly so that Loqi didn’t feel the need to rush. He kept quiet as he led her inside, and for the elevators. Everyone they passed stood to bow to her, but she simply kept eyes ahead, dreading when she was placed in front of Aldercapt.

At the elevators, Loqi pressed the call button and looked to Luna. “You must be pretty happy to be back with the emperor, huh?” he asked lightly.

Luna forced a smile that was convincing enough. “Oh yes. I don’t feel complete when he’s gone for as long as he is.” It was clear that, being young as he was—he appeared to be perhaps Noctis’s age—and born of Niflheim, he had no way of comprehending how the emperor destroyed her. That wasn’t his fault. Even if he was contentious, pretentious, and two-faced when it came to those below and those above, he was still a child of Niflheim, who loved his ruler.

He was brainwashed, as far as Luna was concerned.

“Well, I just hope you know how excited we are to have you,” Loqi said. He stayed where he was as the elevator opened, and only entered after Luna did. “The announcement will be made official tomorrow.”

“I’m honored. I hope to have the chance to heal those infected with the scourge whilst here,” Luna replied delicately.

“Why? I noticed you rode with that man in the hood and mask, too.” He punched the button for the emperor’s floor, and looked to Luna curiously. His superiority complex was peeking out of his wonder for her, but that wasn’t surprising. She knew what Loqi was like.

“As the Oracle, I’m here for all people. My gifts come from the Astrals, not from a particular kingdom, and the Astrals are for all,” she explained gently. “Mine is not political.”

“Ah.”

The rest of the ride was silent, as was their walk for Aldercapt’s door. She could feel disappointment emanating off of him, but she couldn’t do much about it. At least, not aggressively.

When they arrived at that door, she turned as he bowed so she could go on without him. Lighting her fingers up in her healing light, she tenderly touched his face, making him look up to her. “No one is beyond redemption. No one can be unsaved. Remember that,” she whispered.

She left him with that. It was a seed that would confuse him, and one that would likely be buried after a time. It was there, however, and one day it would come back to him, sprouting into an idea. It would be his choice to cut it down or to allow it to grow, but it was still there.

Without another word, she passed through the doors and closed them gently. The room beyond was some sort of study. Books lined nearly every wall, and a grand desk rested in the middle. She wondered if it was at one time King Regis’s office. It looked very similar to her mother’s, just with darker colors.

At the desk, the man she was forced to call her husband sat, smiling as she approached. “Hello, Lunafreya,” he greeted, his faux-warm tone sending shivers down her spine.

“Iedolas,” she greeted, bowing once she reached the opposing side of his desk. “The children are with your commanding officers.”

“They’ll be placed with their keepers here in a while,” he assured. “I just wouldn’t bear seeing you and not getting time with you, my dear.”

Luna knew what that meant, and it made her sick, especially when he confirmed it by standing and holding a hand out to her. Regardless, she gave him her hand and allowed him to walk her around the desk. He wasn’t even wearing his emperor robes at that time, meaning he’d been preparing for her in that way since he got into that room.

Sex with Aldercapt was something of a transaction. He desperately wanted more children, and she was young, fertile and all his. She didn’t have to do anything but allow him access to her body, and since her powers were built for daemons and gods, she stood no chance. Even as he aged, he could still overpower her. The day would come where he couldn’t any longer, but Luna wasn’t convinced she would be more than a husk by then.

She didn’t fight him turning her to unzip her long gown, or fight him as he goaded her to sit on the edge of his desk. She did nothing but stare into space as he pushed into her body, setting a pace within her as rough as the first night he took her. The only difference then was that her body was used to it. The pain was more discomfort, trained to relax itself to accept him. She knew to rest back on her hands, so her hips would pivot out and up to accept him better. The only pain that came was when he would grab her neck or her breasts far too firmly, but even then, she didn’t react. All that would happen was that he would get rougher and cover her mouth if she made noise. She couldn’t breathe when he did that, and had passed out in the past, so it was best to stay silent. Even as he made her feel disgusting when he pushed in deep enough to hit her cervix, spilling into her in his attempt to prove he wasn’t sterile, she did nothing but sigh out the pain that threatened to shock a noise out of her.

It was a transaction, and nothing more. He could no longer create children, or else he would’ve the many times before then and since the birth of the twins. That was her only consolation, because she wasn’t sure she could bear carrying more of his offspring.

She just had to remember to hold on for a little longer.


	11. The Superior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have a morning in the life of Loqi Tummelt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whenever I think of Loqi, I think of that meme of, "It's ya boi!!! Skinny Penis!"
> 
> No real warnings. Loqi lives in a pit of Empire-worshiping denial. Hopefully a small bit of levity after a lot of awful things.

“You’re a fucking moron.”

“Get the _hell_ out of here!” That shouted response came just ahead of Loqi Tummult, Commodore of the Empire of Niflheim’s ground forces, launching his left crutch at the door of the medical bay room he was seated in.

Aranea Highwind didn’t move beyond watching as the crutch collided with the doorframe.

She had arrived shortly after the nurses took him in to help him remove his cast, thanks to the Oracle’s healing blessing, in order to heckle him for absolutely no reason. She probably thought she was being hilarious, coming in to mock him about having to lope up to the great Emperor’s study with his bride.

“Hey, I can’t help that you’re a hopeless Oracle fanboy,” Aranea heckled.

“ _Shut up_ and _go away_ , Highwind,” Loqi snapped. He turned his attention to the nurse, clearly of Niflheim origin, as she worked on removing the clasping cast. “How long will this take?”

“Not that I want to doubt the Oracle and her powers, but I’ll need to take you in for a cautionary x-ray after removal, so I’ll want you to stay put until I can grab a wheelchair. We just want to be safe.”

“Can’t you rid of this insufferable woman along with the cast?”

“I’m afraid you both share the same privileges here,” the nurse replied, vaguely amused.

That caused the young man to fold his armored arms across his equally armored chest, as he sat and glared off at the corner of the room. Distantly, he heard Aranea comment something about him acting like a ‘petulant child’, but he outright ignored her. The stupid woman was so arrogant.

Soon enough, the cast was gone, and the nurse was standing upright. “Now, stay put, and I’ll be back shortly.”

“Fine.”

Aranea moved out of the way, so the woman could go on out, and she watched her go, as if waiting for her to get a certain distance off. When she started to close in, Loqi instinctively wrenched back in his seat and snapped, “Get back, hellbeast.”

She didn’t though, and it took everything he had not to start a fight. He’d seen Aranea get hit by men three times her size and still ruin them, so a fistfight with him wasn’t out of the question.

He resisted though, even as she placed a hand on each side of him, on the examination table’s surface, and leaned in to him. It was _amazing_ how little she regarded personal space. “It’s alright, though,” she said quietly, intensely, watching his face.

“ _What_ is ‘alright’?” he barked indignantly, yet just as quiet.

“Someone should be in the Oracle’s corner, don’t you think?”

That was… disarming. He had no idea what to think. What did she mean by that? “Are you implying I’m coveting her?” he asked, offended.

“Nope.” She straightened up, much to his relief. “I’m saying you know what’s going on and are pretending it isn’t. But you’re in her corner anyway.” And then she reached out to poke his nose with a taloned gauntlet, causing him to flail instinctively. It didn’t even hurt; he just hated when that devil woman touched him.

“You’re certifiable,” he snapped, watching her walk back for the door.

Aranea turned and leaned forward, despite walking backwards, and waved her fingers at him. “We’re all mad here, asshole.”

She spun around gracefully, and exited the room. It left him beyond irritated, but he said nothing further, to lower the chance of having to hear more from her stupid face. There were times he wished that she wasn’t from Niflheim, just so he could scalp her and get a slap on the wrist. Disgusting wench.

———

That conversation haunted him, however. Through the x-ray, he continued to try to understand what that blasted woman had meant. She spoke in such riddles with him at times, and he wanted to tear _her_ hair out because of it.

Once he was cleared to light duty for the rest of the day, with normal activities resuming the following, Loqi took his leave, still thinking. What was he allegedly knowing about? How did it pertain to the Oracle? Why was that the thing Aranea focused on to mock him over? Was it because, for most of them, the Oracle held no importance aside from being the bride of Emperor Aldercapt and the mother of his heiress? So stupid.

It wasn’t too long after his departure from the medical bay that he received a call from the main lobby, stating that Iris Amicitia was there, and requiring escort to Prince Noctis. He had to double check on that, because he knew the prince was on ‘house arrest’ for the duration of the Oracle’s stay. Was he permitted to have visitors?

“It’s the Chancellor’s decision,” Ravus Nox Fleuret advised when Loqi called him for confirmation. “Care of the prince was transferred to his hands as of this morning.”

That was… interesting…

He made the call on the elevator ride down, and was receiving an answer as he stepped off, and was able to gaze out to the thirteen year old as she socialized with a couple of Imperial soldiers.

“Would this be about the Amicitia girl?” Ardyn Izunia greeted him with, his voice sinisterly playful as always.

“Yes, sir. Normally, Prince Noctis isn’t allowed visitors at times like these,” Loqi clarified.

“Normally is correct. However, I’ve decided that, now that I hold his safekeeping in my hands, that he should have a new normal, so to speak,” Ardyn explained. “He’s permitted to see Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia and Iris Amicitia. All other requests to see him must be run through me.”

“Are there any prohibited materials? It appears she has a book bag with her,” Loqi asked, stopping at the mouth of the elevator hall and studying the girl.

“Everything dangerous is prohibited. I’m allowing him access to books, and he’ll be in possession of a smartphone that I, myself, have given him as of tomorrow. Likewise, I should make you aware of a slight restructuring. I want you to solely worry about the Amicitia girl. Commander Nox Fleuret will be dealing with the prince starting tomorrow. Gladiolus Amicitia is being placed with the imperial children. Ignis Scientia is a relatively free agent until I say he’s not. Are we understood?”

“…why am I being relegated to the girl?”

“’Relegated’? It’s hardly a punishment, commodore. She’s close to marrying age for a Lucian, is she not?”

Loqi opened his mouth, but found himself not able to speak. What did one say to that? The girl was as close to a person of Niflheim as one could get without having been born within its hold. She was five years old when the Empire took over Lucis. The likelihood she remembered anything significant before then was next to none.

For him, there was indeed a hard line in the sand between a woman of Lucis and a woman of Niflheim, and what was considered appropriate for such things.

Fortunately for him, he didn’t have to say anything before the Chancellor was chuckling and releasing the call. Well, then.

He tucked away his phone and went to approach Iris. She was a sweet girl. Idealistic to a fault. That wasn’t really her fault. The Amicitia children faired the best of those tied to the Citadel, and left behind. While he didn’t believe for a single moment that Gladiolus was loyal to the Empire, he played his role in acting as if he was, and that was all that mattered. He could _think_ anything he wanted.

“No boyfriends yet, huh?” one of the Imperial soldiers asked, sounding amused, even slightly flirtatious.

“No way!” Iris said with a laugh. “Besides, what boy would get up this early?”

“We do,” the other jokingly insisted.

Loqi snorted. Even though their faces were hidden, they sounded as if they were older than him. The irony of his being perturbed at that, but accepting of the Emperor and the Oracle, was lost on him.

He moved around behind Iris and looked at the two solders. “Back to your posts,” he ordered.

The two snapped to attention and bowed to their superior, before darting off in separate directions to do as they were told, and without so much as a goodbye from Iris. She didn’t seem to mind, however, as she turned and looked Loqi over in surprise. “You’re okay?” she asked.

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” Loqi asked, tilting his head.

“People were saying you fell down some stairs,” she replied, concerned. “When I came to visit Prince Noctis the other day.”

“Ah.” Loqi straightened up at the shoulders a bit at that. “Yes. It happens. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“It had to have been, because you haven’t missed escorting me around before,” she pressed.

Clever. Or well-informed. He couldn’t quite figure out which. “My wounds were assisted by the Oracle this morning, however.”

“Lady Lunafreya?” the girl asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “You got to see her? Where is she?”

“Spending time with the Emperor.”

“…oh.” There was something on Iris’s face in that was unreadable and absolutely confusing. Loqi wasn’t sure what it was. It wasn’t acknowledgment. It was something far more adult than what he was used to seeing on her, and it was… uncomfortable.

Clearing his throat, Loqi gestured for the elevators. “How about we start our way up for Prince Noctis, hm?”

“Okay,” Iris replied, her expression not really changing, other than to become a bit more understated.

They started on their way in silence, Iris holding her thumbs between her shoulders and her bag’s shoulder straps as she walked. Loqi supposed that, for the average person, she might’ve been heavily broadcasting her exact state of mind. However, he was terrible about such things. He could read moves in combat flawlessly. Violence was telegraphed and easy to visualize, to understand the motives of every step and blow, but the nuances of basic communication, that wasn’t something he ever had to concern himself with.

The child of members of Aldercapt’s court, he was always the only person who mattered. Even his great uncle, Verstael Besithia, for as staunch and self-absorbed a man he could be, was keen on giving Loqi what he wanted, unless it wouldn’t be beneficial to him. It was why he didn’t take the fact that the devil had been issued his pet project as her new dog. Loqi knew the truth behind that project the minute he laid eyes on him. Whatever his personal feelings on the matter, he would have gotten ‘Prompto’ if Besithia thought it would be best.

Entering into the military academy as a teenager, he was guaranteed to become an officer straight away upon graduation. Because of his upbringing and his penchant for command, he was instantly assigned his rank of Commodore right out of school, and flown to Insomnia once he was promoted.

The feelings of others were secondary.

Except for young girls, and younger boys. Not in some perverse way, but even he understood that their well-being would be for the betterment of the Empire when they reached adulthood, so he did his best with them. It was just unfortunate that he didn’t read the wedding practices that the Lucians were forced into as being anything than just something that happened.

Just as they were stepping out of the elevator into an empty hall, high up in the Citadel’s long body, Iris looked up to Loqi. “What do you think the Emperor and Lady Lunafreya talk about when they’re alone?”

He sighed a bit and pulled Iris to make her walk with him for Noctis’s bedroom. “That’s not something that any of us need to know.”

“I’m not saying we do,” Iris insisted. “I just… wonder if they talk about love, and family, or just about politics and things. That’s all.”

Was it one of those teenage girl things? Seeing as to how he was never a teen girl…

“I can’t say I know,” he said. Maybe he could just play hypotheticals until she was happy, or distracted. “I imagine both. The marriage was pretty…”

“…political.”

“Well. Yes.” Again, that word she added with his sentence caused him to experience… something, but he couldn’t be sure what it was. It wasn’t a good feeling.

He could dwell on it later, he supposed.

When they arrived at Noctis’s doors, flanked with two guards on each side, and two more standing across the hall, Loqi went to grab the handles, but Iris quickly interjected with, “Wait!” Loqi froze and looked at her, eyebrows raised. “What if he’s changing or something? We should knock!”

“…you _do_ know he doesn’t talk. It’s not like he’ll say anything, one way or another.”

Iris pouted with a sigh. “Yeah, you’re right…”

With that admittance, Loqi proceeded to throw Noctis’s doors open. He knew Noctis wouldn’t be caught dead in anything less than the suits he was required to wear on a daily basis. Loqi was pretty sure he slept in them. The chances of catching him changing were next to none, unless one kicked in the door of his bathroom.

The prince was seated on his bed, numbly thumbing through a book that Iris had brought him days before. He looked up at the sudden intrusion, and Loqi was quickly seeing what it was like to be Aranea, when Noctis hauled off and threw the book right at him. The difference was that Noctis didn’t miss by a foot, and Loqi had to raise his arms to shield his face.

He dropped his arms with a glower at the prince, who was glaring in kind and holding up a middle finger at him. That gesture quickly dropped, however, when Noctis’s eyes spied Iris.

“Yeah, I brought her to see you again,” Loqi snapped at him. “Ungrateful brat.”

Noctis’s next gesture was one that the wide-eyed Iris didn’t know as well, with the prince striking under his chin with the tips of his fingers, and throwing that hand outward towards Loki. As Iris went for Noctis’s bed, Loqi ran a thumb across his own throat as a threat, and Noctis narrowed his eyes in return.

“Are you okay?” Iris asked Noctis, apparently deciding to ignore the testosterone catfight going on as she hoisted up onto his bed.

Noctis looked to her and nodded. Periodically, he glared over at Loqi, who went to stand at the doors, but inside the room so he could observe the interaction. That was what was supposed to happen anytime someone other than Ignis went to the prince. The whole reason the steward’s education had been nerfed was to allow him free access to Noctis without supervision. The prince needed his babysitter, so why pay someone new when they had someone who could do it for free?

He would have flipped out to know that her last visit had been completely unsupervised.

“I brought more books.” Iris pulled her bag off, grunting and immediately getting help from Noctis. “History books, the Cosmogony—”

The minute Noctis laid eyes on that religious book, he grabbed it and yet again hurled it at Loqi’s face. Books were less predictable, and it flew open, then to the side because of air resistance. If not for that, it would’ve definitely hit Loqi again. “Real nice,” Loqi snapped. He went and kicked the book off to the side. “That means nothing to me, so if you meant to send me a message, it failed.”

Noctis grabbed another book, that time about the old history of the Empire and Lucis, but before he could throw it, Iris leapt up onto her knees and grabbed it. “Please stop!” she implored. She looked at Loqi. “He’s going to keep doing this so long as you’re in here!”

“You know your visits have to be supervised.” While he never called her out on it, it was found out months ago that she would slip the prince books to read.

Noctis took the lashings for her, he heard.

“Everything I have are just books,” she protested. She started picking up the different books, in order to open and shake them to prove they were nothing but books. “Chancellor Izunia said he can have books, and he didn’t give any limitations!”

“Lady Iris…”

“Please? You can leave the door cracked, so you can peek in or whatever,” the girl begged. She sat up on her knees, book free at the moment, and clasped her hands together in front of her. “Pretty please! I’ll beg! I might even cry!”

Oh _God_.

Loqi held up his hands at that. “Fine, fine, whatever, just don’t,” he grumbled. “The door’s staying cracked.”

He turned to pull the right door open, to the sound of a struggle behind him. No doubt, Noctis was trying to throw another book, and Iris was wrestling him to stop him.

“Thank you!” Iris called as Loqi pulled the door shut once he was out, save a couple of inches.

Loqi closed his eyes as he rolled them. It was amazing what he did for that girl. The only people who could and would punish him would hopefully show him mercy when—not _if_ , but definitely _when_ —word reached them about all of that. Regardless, he’d make his opinion that he should be allowed to smack the disrespectful prince around to knock him back into place known.

Again.

And again.

He _really_ hated that guy.


	12. 7 Days Until

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're seeing a further tie-in to where this story came from, which was Day 3 of the Hurt Noct Week challenge from tumblr! While Day 3 kicked this off, I can't promise it will happen exactly that way.
> 
> It's like when someone does a video short of something, and later turns that video short into a whole movie.
> 
> Also: BLACK IS A SPECIAL COLOR, Y'ALL

“I really wish you wouldn’t throw this one of any of them,” Iris scolded Noctis as she scooped up the Cosmogony from where it fell. She returned to Noctis, sitting next to him on the bed. “You know, Loqi’s not that bad.”

Noctis shook his head slightly and stared at her.

“…well, I guess he’s not when it comes to me,” she amended. She leaned in a little closer and whispered, “He said Lady Lunafreya’s already here.”

The news had Noctis clenching his hands around the book he’d been flipping through, and pressing it against his forehead. She frowned a little at that response, and patted at his right hand to try to get him to loosen that grip.

“I wish you’d talk to me. Or…” She turned quickly and drew out a pen and notebook, flipping it open to a blank page. “You could write to me? You write to her, after all, so I know you still know how to do that.” At the baffled look from Noctis, Iris exchanged it with a flat one of her own. “Really? I’m not asking you to give away secrets. I just wanna… you know. Actually see something you’re thinking, you know?” She opened the Cosmogony after dropping the pen and notebook in his lap. “It’s not fair that we can’t even hear from you,” she said quietly. “I know you’re not wanting to give them too much. But… don’t you think life might be a little easier if you just… cooperated more? I think Gladdy and Ignis would really like to at least have something said to them in exchange. Even just in writing.”

Noctis looked down at the notebook, while Iris read the book she held so dearly. For him, it wasn’t that he couldn’t write, but he was afraid if he started writing to the others, outside of Luna, he’d eventually crack and speak. The most interactive he got was with Iris and the guys, unless one counted Loqi, but that was just because he was such a prick.

After a moment of just allowing Iris to do her thing, Noctis picked up the pen and started to write. He definitely wasn’t out of practice with that, just because of Luna. He never had access to anything for writing except when she sent the notebook to him.

Once he was done, he handed both to Iris, who looked surprised, since she’d been so focused on her reading. She took the items, which allowed Noctis to then flop back onto the bed and stair at the ceiling.

‘ _Talking is a mistake, but never personal against you guys._ ’

The young girl frowned and looked at Noctis. “I don’t think any of us think you’re… like… attacking us personally, Noct, but… I don’t know.”

He reached over blindly for the two things back, which she gave, and then rolled onto his stomach, away from her, to start writing again. That time, it took him longer to write, but Iris was hoping it was worth it. She really did wonder what was hiding away in his mind and, while she would’ve preferred to listen to him talk, she would take what she could get.

Finally, he slid the notebook back, that time keeping the pen, and rested his head on his arms. She claimed the book and went to read what he wrote again. It really spoke to the education he had as a child, before the Empire, because his handwriting was near-perfect in execution. Unique, but clear, with a regal calligraphy-like style to it.

‘ _I know you’re too young to remember, but the Empire’s our enemy, Iris. I watched your dad die right next to mine. You were five, so I get it, and I’m not mad that you think the way you do, but I was ten. I remember. I remember before, during, and after, and my story now is different from yours. I’m not going to talk. I would, behind closed doors, but I don’t trust there not to be bugs everywhere, watching and waiting._ ’

For a moment, Iris wondered if that was how he wrote to Lady Lunafreya. Did he write simple sentences like before, or long paragraphs like that?

But the words he wrote… it was sad. She sighed and turned so she could flop onto the bed on her stomach as well. “Sorry,” she said quietly. Noctis shrugged his dismissal. “Gladdy worries about you.” Noctis glanced at her. “He said that the other day, you had a split lip.” Noctis turned his gaze away and shrugged again.

He didn’t want to be rude, but there wasn’t anything to say about it.

But then, Iris was dropping the notebook in front of him in a silent request for him to tell her. He shook his head adamantly, because he didn’t want to discuss any of that. Iris was better off innocent of that, and the guys were better off free of guilt from that.

Although he was prepared for a fight, despite him starting to jot a little something that would throw Iris a bone, he didn’t have to worry about a fight at all…

—— ——— ——

Moments Earlier

—— ——— ——

Outside the doors of the prince’s bedroom, Loqi stood with his arms folded over his chest. He was leaning towards the cracked door, attempting to hear if Noctis would say anything. While the emperor entertained the prince’s silence, Loqi really wish he wouldn’t have. It was juvenile. Eight years without uttering a word. He didn’t believe it, but no one had been able to prove he’d ever broken his apparent vow of silence.

“Sir,” one of the guards whispered to him very suddenly.

Loqi straightened and stepped forward, just in time to see Chancellor Ardyn Izunia heading their way. Wasn’t that phone conversation enough?

“Chancellor,” Loqi greeted, not making his feelings known. “To what do we owe this honor?”

“I’m here to speak with Prince Noctis,” Ardyn replied, a smile on his lips. “You didn’t leave him alone with little Lady Iris, did you?”

“He turned hostile, and I’m under orders not to ‘hurt’ him,” Loqi reminded, his voice going flat. “It was best for me to step out. The door’s partially open.”

“Oh _my_.” Ardyn slipped past the younger man, whispering, teasing, “What if he steals her away from you~?”

Loqi threw up his hands, his face that of a young man watching a psychotic senior citizen roll past, as he stared at Ardyn’s back. What the hell was the chancellor’s issue?

“Dear little Iris!” Ardyn sang as he pushed his way into Noctis’s room.

Both teenagers shot up from where they’d been resting next to one another. While Iris just looked at Ardyn with wide eyes and clutching the notebook bearing Noctis’s writing on it against her chest, Noctis actually retreated further up his bed, to his pillows. She did take notice of that, but said nothing.

“Chancellor Izunia,” she said, bowing her head respectfully. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know you had plans to visit Prince Noctis. I would’ve waited until later to visit…”

“Oh, dear, that’s alright,” Ardyn said, smiling kindly but his words biting sinisterly, in a way Iris felt she was hearing, and in a way that drilled itself straight down Noctis’s spine. “I _do_ need to speak to him, I’m afraid, but you’re welcome to leave whatever books you’d like. As you can see, we’ll be having none of that stifling of education any longer.” He gestured to Noctis’s desk, which still held the other books Iris brought in for him. “Commodore Tummelt will show you out.”

“Yes, sir,” Iris said, collecting her bag and pen, and never releasing that notebook. “I’ll see you later, Noct,” she said, looking at Noctis with a great deal of worry that she’d never had before.

She turned to start to leave, when Ardyn said, “Oh, Lady Iris?”

“Yes?” she asked, stopping and looking back to him.

“Don’t forget: Three days until the Festival of Etro.”

Noctis’s eyebrows practically hit his hairline, while Iris gasp a bit. “We’re going to celebrate that this year?” They hadn’t been allowed to celebrate any Lucian holidays for the last six years…

“I think it’s a bit silly to strip a land’s people of such splendid holidays,” Ardyn scoffed, looking at Noctis then. “A seven day festival dedicated to your patron Goddess of Death and Gates should be permitted. No one escapes death, after all. They simply learn how to avoid Her hand for a little while longer.”

“Thank you,” Iris said sincerely.

“Toddle along now, darling,” Ardyn dismissed, tone light, and waving over his shoulder.

Iris didn’t want to go, because of something written within that notebook, but she complied anyway, Loqi pulling the door shut behind her.

Ardyn’s smile never left his face as he watched Noctis. Noctis had only just started interacting with the chancellor, but everything about him was creepy. Everything, from the way he seemed to pop up out of no where, to the way he seemed almost to dote on Noctis. Now, the prince was under no delusion over the fact that what constituted ‘spoiling’ had certainly shifted for him over the years, but regardless, it was unnerving.

“I’m glad you’ve chosen to start communicating in some way,” the chancellor said, moving around the bed to sit down beside the prince. Noctis attempted to sidle away, only for a heavy hand to come to rest on his bad knee. “There’s no need for that,” Ardyn said with a deep, throaty chuckle. He gave that knee a squeeze. It didn’t hurt, telling Noctis it was a warning more than anything. “I just want to check in on you.”

Noctis stared at Ardyn with cold, steel blues, but he didn’t try to get away. He didn’t get warning shots often, but when he did, he listened to them.

“Aldercapt certainly has trained you well, hasn’t he? Why, he could turn you into a little lapdog if he so wanted, I bet.”

Noctis had gotten really familiar with the way Niffs spoke. It was clever, in a way. But nothing they said that sounded like that was because they were being too literal, or too metaphorical, and because he caught the implication, it made him sick. He was unreadable, other than squinting his eyes at Ardyn.

“Oh, don’t worry. He much prefers the Lady Lunafreya being one,” Ardyn went on. The sound of her name leaving that face made Noctis’s blood run cold. “You know what he did with her first thing upon her arrival?” He leaned in to the young prince, smiling. “Let me tell you.”

—— — ——

Meanwhile…

—— — ——

“I’m not familiar with this holiday,” Loqi advised as he walked Iris back for the elevator.

“I’m no expert or anything, because I was seven when we were last able to celebrate it, but it’s fun as I remember it!” Iris said as she bounced on the balls of her feet. The notebook had been shoved into, and secured by, her backpack by that point. The writing within needed to get safely to her big brother, so not drawing attention to it was important. “For seven days, you wear increasingly more concealing things on your face, until the last day, you’re completely masked in identity, and each day is for something different. Even though it’s for the old death goddess stuff, it’s about life as much as death.”

“Interesting. And that’s in three days, you said?”

“Mmhm.” She stopped when one of the elevators opened just in front of them, and was surprised when Ignis Scientia stepped out in front of them.

He was as surprised as Iris to see her there with Loqi, and he bowed as he stepped out of the way, across the hall. “Apologies,” he said formally. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your path, Commodore Tummelt.”

Loqi regarded Ignis harshly for a moment while stopping the elevator from closing, but only just. Ignis was clever and respectful, so he found little reason to ever be too harsh to him. “If you’re going to your _prince_ , you ought to know that Chancellor Izunia is in with him at the moment, so I suggest you wait.”

Ignis’s hand that was over his heart tightened slightly, which Iris noticed where Loqi didn’t, since she was so much shorter than both men. It wasn’t too surprising… “Ignis, the chancellor said we’re celebrating the Festival of Etro again,” she said, smiling.

A smile was pried out of Ignis at that. “Yes, I just received word that I’m to ensure that Prince Noctis may be able to celebrate as well, so I’m on my way to develop a plan with him.”

Loqi nudged Iris onto the elevator with his free hand. “Teach that petulant brat manners, steward,” he ordered firmly. “He’s walking on thin ice with me.” Ignis didn’t need to know that he was on orders to not touch the prince.

“I apologize on his behalf,” Ignis replied immediately. “I’ll make certain to remind him that respect is due from him at all times.”

“See that you do.”

As Loqi stepped onto the elevator after Iris and slapped one of the buttons on the panel, Ignis stayed low in his bow. Only after the elevator doors shut did he straighten, and adjust his glasses on his face. Much like Noctis, he didn’t trust Ardyn in the slightest. There was some sort of powerplay being designed in his sudden interference and supplying of technology and books to him and Noctis, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

The dilemma was getting past the guards. It took him some time to think up an idea, and when it did dawn on him, he headed over for Noctis’s door. First, he attempted to walk straight past, though he knew he would be stopped almost immediately.

“Not yet, steward,” the guard that stepped in front of him said firmly.

He clucked his tongue and pushed his glasses up his nose a bit more. “Now, I realize you’ve a job to do, but I’m afraid Emperor Aldercapt has called to summon him for an emergency private meeting whilst Lady Lunafreya is indisposed for the time.” It was less about how much sense the thing he was saying made, and more about _how_ it was said. Social engineering was useful, even if he was terribly out of practice.

Had he been allowed his full schooling, he would’ve been quite adept. While the Shield protected from physical harm, the Steward protected from verbal and written harm. Normally, anyhow.

Because he didn’t waver in how he looked at the soldier blocking his way, and his voice and expression didn’t once convey anything but the sort of urgency attempting to rush for the emperor could cause, it was apparently good enough.

He was quite proud of himself when the soldier stepped to the side again. That, right there, was the culmination of one of the few lessons he had received on the matter: false tells.

Via little, white lies—nothing severe enough to bring him punishment—Ignis always made certain to give off obvious, and incorrect, tells. Maybe avoiding eye contact, or fidgeting, or sagging his shoulders, tapping his toes on the floor behind him. Things that would be passed along across the Citadel, since he knew they were always profiling him, Noctis and Gladiolus, so that when it came for him to actually lie, and no such signs were present, they would believe him.

He started that process nearly two years ago, and never really cashed in on it, so he had no idea it would work. He sure was relieved, however, and stepped on into Noctis’s room, moving quickly and without hesitation.

“Noct, I’ve come to—”

He stopped when he saw what was happening, having already pushed the door shut behind him.

On its face, it wasn’t anything scandalous. But the way Noctis was pressed against his headboard, Ardyn sitting next to him with a white-knuckled grasp on his bad knee, it was clear something was wrong. At the very least, Noctis had to be in pretty horrible pain. That wasn’t even accounting for what might’ve been said leading up to Ignis’s intrusion.

“My apologies, Chancellor. I didn’t realize…” he trailed off in a complete lie.

Ardyn smiled over his shoulder at the young man. “It’s no trouble, Ignis,” he tutted as he went to stand, and putting far too much weight on Noctis’s leg as he did so. “Far be it from me to get in between friends.”

Ignis stepped to the side as Ardyn approached, and was more than a little unnerved when he stopped right next to him and placed a hand on Ignis’s shoulder. He half-expected Ardyn to squeeze down on him, but he didn’t. He only leaned on the younger man slightly as he moved in to whisper in his ear.

“Don’t you think it’s funny?”

“…pardon?”

“How it seems only the girls are used for their bodies?” the chancellor whispered. Ignis frowned slightly, but didn’t respond. He was glad he didn’t, so he didn’t miss what Ardyn had to say next. “Oh, but alas. I think you know as well as I do how untrue that actually is.”

After on last glance back at Noctis, the act sending a chilling pang through Ignis’s body, Ardyn took his leave, and left Ignis staring at Noctis.

Although the prince couldn’t have possibly heard, he slowly pulled his good leg up to his chest and hugged onto it. Ignis waited until he heard the door fully shut, and skirted over to Noctis’s side, sitting up on the bed, on his knees. “Noct.”

Noctis slowly looked at him, shaking his head and waving one hand, as if to dismiss that there was nothing wrong.

Ignis hated when Noctis dismissed concern. In his very soul, he could feel something was so deeply wrong there, but Noctis never betrayed himself or his secrets. It made the steward sigh and look down. “I’m too help you prepare for the Festival of Etro. Every night is to be spent with Aldercapt and the others. Not Lady Lunafreya, from what I understand. Rumor among staff is she’ll be here for the entirety of it, but kept away so that you’re unaware.”

Noctis grimaced at that while he straightened his leg out once more, a tremor passing over it. That tremor was clearly of pain, but Noctis wasn’t giving any indication about wanting to talk about it.

“Gladio is going to—”

Noctis reached over quickly and covered Ignis’s mouth with his hand. He put a finger to his lips, and then pointed to his ear, and then the door.

…was he saying that Ardyn confirmed his paranoia? For years, Noctis seemed paranoid that there were ears everywhere, with no proof, even if Gladio and Ignis remained vigilant for much of that time.

That complicated things immensely.

“Right. Well, Gladio is going to be helping me with picking out what you’ll wear, and Gladio will fund a makeup artist for the first part of the festival for you,” he covered, clearing his throat as he spoke.

Noctis nodded compliantly and then shuffled around so he could just lay down properly on his bed; his back was to Ignis. Ignis frowned as he watched him. “Would you like me to go?”

Noctis shrugged, and then amended it with a shake of his head. Even though Ignis didn’t say it, that relieved him immensely. How he wished they could have had normal upbringings. They had been so close, like brothers. Yes, Noctis changed to a degree after the assassination attempt, but they were still _brothers_. Those days, in the wake of Noctis’s prolonged silence, and the thumb of the Empire, Ignis spent a lot of time wondering about that.

“Alright, Noct,” he said. He took up the books scattered at the foot of the bed, and sat a bit more comfortably. “Get some rest,” he encouraged. “I’ll be here, right here, when you wake.”

Noctis nodded, a glint of appreciation in his eyes.

A glint of anything positive with Noctis was a reward all on its own, those days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original naming convention is over. It'll rear up again later, but for now, we're on a new one.
> 
> These will come out a bit slower, since they will now be lacing through multiple characters instead of focusing on just one at a time.


	13. 6 Days Until

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio and Ignis are looking for holes in the bubbles around them, and Aranea is a busy girl in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Insinuations of past child abuse (both physical and sexual). Mentions of potential child marriage. Nothing explicit, other than some language drops, I suppose!
> 
> This chapter is more building the foundation of what's coming, exclusively for Gladio primarily, and Ignis secondarily.

Three days until the Festival of Etro started.

It’d been so long, Gladiolus didn’t know if he could even remember what to do. He was fifteen the last time they were allowed to celebrate it, with Ignis fourteen, and Noctis thirteen. Neither of them felt up to celebrating, but tradition was tradition. It ultimately helped with mourning the loss of their loved ones, so it benefited them in a bittersweet way.

With the banning of the festival, it didn’t seem like a big deal until the day for the day one of the seven day holiday began. It was then that they really felt the impact of its loss in their lives, and that impact continued each year until it was but a distant memory.

Well, he suspected that it affected Noctis still, but no one knew for certain. Etro, although she was absent, was the patron of Insomnia and the Lucii; their crest resembled death as she did. It used to be his favorite holiday. That first year they could celebrate it back then, Gladio and Ignis had hoped that it would give him reason to speak, but he simply didn’t. He didn’t even enjoy it slightly, although he relaxed some in private moments during it, and more so in the following two years.

When news broke of it, Gladio—who had been yet again pushed into the spot of babysitter—found himself being bombarded with questions from Daimona and Spectro. Although their very existences were haunting reminders of the injustice done to their mother, she had done a good job trying to balance their perception of the people around them.

“Who’s Etro?” Spectro asked, his eyes wide. “Why do you have a festival for them?”

“Is it a fun festival?” Daimona asked, seated on the floor of the training gym Gladio took them to that morning. They enjoyed learning about different weapons, and occasionally training with the same practice weapons Noctis used to use.

“Well…” Gladio went to sit on the floor in front of them, balancing the large katana he was telling them about on his lap. “Etro is the goddess of death,” he explained. “She stood guard over Insomnia for a very long time, until one day something catastrophic happened, and she vanished.”

“Did our mom speak to her?” Spectro asked.

“No, she disappeared before any of us were born,” Gladio replied. “I imagine one of the earlier Oracles did, though. That’s the privilege of the Oracle, to speak to the Astrals where no one else can.”

“Mom says Spectro’s gonna be the next Oracle,” Daimona remarked.

“Yep. And that’s good, because you’re going to be so busy as Empress, you don’t want the duties of Oracle, too. That’s just as busy a job.”

“Really? Mom doesn’t go out much,” Daimona pointed out.

Gladio had no idea how to reply to that, honestly. It didn’t really surprise him, but it was sad. The Oracle’s job was to go out, and to heal and dote on the people.

By some miracle, he didn’t have to explain anything, because in that instant, the doors of the training room opened. He looked over to find a set of four Citadel guards entering, flanking a woman he didn’t recognize. She was older, perhaps in her mid to late thirties. That wasn’t a negative assessment, either. Gladio rather liked older women at that age. They were more mature, grounded and stable. He just had no idea who she was, and the kids didn’t, either.

“My name is Pyra Finae,” she announced, adjusting the sleeves of her Empire red blazer. “I’m here to collect the Princess Apparent and Prince.”

“I’m sorry, I have no idea who you are,” Gladio replied as he pulled to his feet. He stepped around in front of the two kids, watching her without wavering. There was no way she was there with soldier escort if she wasn’t authorized, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to just relinquish the children without something more. Both for their safety, and his.

While it hadn’t happened in several years, there was a period of time there that Gladio was confronted with loyalty checks that were cleverly masked to test if he was worthy of the freedom he and Iris were given. Although he had only failed on the first test, that one time was enough. The first one was free of full punishment, but didn’t come without _some_ punishment, and he refused to face that ever again.

Pyra smirked a bit and bowed her head slightly. “Very well,” she said, her tone approving. “I’m from Niflheim. I was just flown in to begin acting as their nanny,” she explained. “As of right now, the emperor has summoned them.”

Gladio had more questions, but they were stifled as he noticed Aranea walking past the open entry. She looked in to him and nodded as she walked, as if to confirm what Pyra was saying.

“Alright,” he said, still dubious. He turned to the twins and asked, “Did you hear that? Do you feel okay going with her, kiddos?”

“If dad sent her, then yeah,” Spectro said without hesitation, springing to his feet and helping his sister.

Gladio smirked a bit but took a knee to stop them for a moment. “Okay, but I need you two to remember something. Can you do that for me?” The two blonds nodded curiously, eyes widening. “While she’s for real, not everyone might be. It’s okay to say ‘no’. You’re the most important kids out there. If you ever think someone might be lying to you, you can say no and come find me, or anyone you _do_ know, okay?”

“Okay,” the two said in impressive unison.

“Okay,” he echoed. He pushed back to his feet and stepped to the side.

Pyra smiled at the two as they went to take her hands, and transferred that smile to Gladio. “You must be a big brother, or a father.”

“The former,” Gladio sort-of confirmed. He nodded then to her and just turned to put up the katana he had been carrying on about before that conversation, and following intrusion.

She took to ushering the twins from the room, the four guards still flanking without deviation. “Come along, little ones,” she soothed. “Your father has been so busy, and has been dying to see you both.”

They exited the room, but left the doors open, which made Aranea’s entry soon after quick and silent. She turned to close the doors, and by the time she approached Gladio, he was leaning on the wall next to the weapons’ rack, arms folded over his chest. She knew she’d be coming in, as there was no other reason for her to ever be on the training floor of the Citadel.

“We need to talk,” she said quietly.

“Obviously.”

“I’m serious.” She moved in close, looking sternly at him as she did so; dead in the eye and comfortable in doing so, as always. “Loqi came in for advice last night.”

“Pfft, why?” Gladio knew those two didn’t get along. There weren’t many who _did_ get along with Loqi, but he and Aranea were like wet cats in a bag sometimes. “Did he break a nail?”

“He was bothered and wanted advice. He said that Chancellor Izunia dropped some comments implying that he’d be well-suited to Iris.” When Gladio shoved off the wall, his eyes flashing with anger, Aranea held up her hands to stop him from even so much as dismissing himself. “He’s not for it.”

“He sure as hell better not be,” Gladio growled.

“He wanted to know how to ‘bitch his way out of it’ if those insinuations became something more official,” she assured. “But I told you I’d tell you if something happened and I knew about it. I don’t know if there’s a way around it, but at least the guy getting poked about it doesn’t want her like that.”

Gladio paused as he thought for a short moment, and then asked, “Didn’t you say if I got authority in the military…?”

“Not gonna happen,” Aranea said, shaking her head. “Not that fast. I wouldn’t be surprised if they leverage that against you. ‘She’s going to be married off, or you’ll never see the day that you command anyone’.”

“ _Fuck_.”

“Yeah. You speak to her last night at all?”

“No.”

“So, you have no idea if she’s heard anything about this.”

“No,” Gladio repeated, the answer still valid.

“Then you need to talk to her,” Aranea pressed. “See what she knows. If she knows nothing, that probably means there’s still time. Got it?”

“…yeah. I got it.”

“Behave yourself until we can figure this out.”

“Right.”

Gladio didn’t exactly feel like behaving, but Aranea was right. No good would come from throwing a fit too soon. Or at all.

He wondered who to thank for the fact that Loqi was apparently not keen on the idea, either. One would have been right to suspect he was the sort to thrill at that sort of takedown of the people under the Empire’s thumb.

After Aranea ghosted away, Gladio went to collect his coat, feeling numb. He hadn’t actually done anything to work up a sweat to entertain the twins, so showering right then wasn’t going to be necessary. What he did give pause for was to pull his phone, and send Iris a message that he was going to definitely be home that night. He was out the previous night, networking after-hours with some Citadel soldiers (nothing made those guys feel more like one was part of the group than going out and getting drunk together), and eventually went home with a one-night stand from one of the bars they visited.

Initially, he only felt mildly guilty, dismissing her pleas for him to come home then. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for her to want her brother home just so they could play video games, or board games, or just talk together. Thus, he dismissed her pleas. Had she been so adamant about it because she had learned something about Loqi… he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

Straightening himself out, he started out of the training room, ready to lock it up and see if he couldn’t find someone with a big mouth, only to nearly smack right into Ignis. The younger man had been looking over his shoulder during his clear pathing to the training room, and grunted when Gladio grabbed his shoulders to keep him from colliding into him.

“Apologies,” the steward said, adjusting his glasses.

“No sweat. Who’re you worried about?”

“I noticed the children being led away, and was hoping that meant you were available.” That wasn’t exactly the answer to Gladio’s question, but Gladio let it rest for the moment.

“Yeah, I’m free now. Entire day was blocked for babysitting, but they’ve got a nanny now. What do you—”

“We need someplace secure.” Gladio turned to the training room, only for Ignis to grab him and shake his head insistently. “Secure, Gladio.”

Gladio pursed his lips, thinking. Ignis wasn’t prone to paranoia like Noctis was, so if he felt the training room wasn’t secure… “Remember that place we used to hang out way back, down in the garages?” he asked, voice quiet. Ignis nodded. “C’mon.”

When they were much younger, in much better days, when neither were slaving away at school and training, they were still young boys at the end of the day. While developing some sort of treehouse was out of the question there, there were old utility rooms down in the garage floors that rested under the Citadel. At that age, Noctis went straight from school and into the hands of tutors, with his only free time being later than theirs, so they never made mention of their little hideouts. It would’ve just upset him that he couldn’t join them, even if he wasn’t a particularly jealous boy.

Since the fall of the Wall, in order to prevent daemons from spawning in those levels, they were left impossibly bright. They were painted white and fair blue to reflect the light all around, and it made it painful to the eyes. It ensured, though, that they wouldn’t be jumped by any goblins or the like.

They traveled to the lowermost of the five-level garage, where things weren’t really maintained as well. While still painted, trash and debris blown in during storms found its way down there, and covered the floors, as well as the ramp up. It made it easy to tell that no one drove down there, and with carefully walking over and around the debris, it made them unable to be tracked.

It took Ignis some time to cut through a layer of paint that sealed the old room’s door, via a knife produced by Gladio, and then it took Gladio stepping in to force the door open, so they could first allow light to pour into the room and hit any lurking daemons. There were none, so they stepped in and Ignis got the bare bulb while Gladio shut the door.

“Absolutely untouched,” Ignis remarked as he looked around in relative surprise.

Sure enough, it was just as they had left it: a couple of sleeping bags were crumpled on the floor, and a third neatly rolled and stowed in a corner, with toys and spoiled packaged food around. Although low, it didn’t prevent them from getting signal on their phones, so they had spent one night that Gladio’s father was staying overnight in there, just having a boys’ sleepover of games and shows.

They had actually intended to drag Noctis down with them, but he’d fallen asleep in his father’s chamber that night, so they just left the third bag down there in case he called Ignis in the middle of the night, wanting to spend time with him.

“Which means it’ll be free of any bugs or anything,” Gladio said. He looked around a bit and then folded his arms over his chest. “What’s going on?”

“Yesterday, Chancellor Izunia stopped in for a chat with Noct,” Ignis explained. “Iris had been with him, but dismissed when the chancellor arrived. I managed to talk my way in, finding Noct attempting to fuse backwards into his headboard, and Ardyn was looming beside him, grasping his bad knee. I believe he’d been squeezing the knee. As the chancellor left, he made troublesome implications, and Noct was bothered enough to request, in the way he does, that I stay with him as he slept.”

“What implications,” Gladio asked, though it came out as a statement rather than a question.

“Ones we’ve had our fears over every time Noct goes behind closed doors with those in charge, like Aldercapt and his court,” Ignis said. “After he woke, I asked him if anyone had ever done anything with him like that, but he simply shook his head and refused to so much as gesture about it beyond that.”

Gladio swore he felt his teeth pop, he was clenching them so hard. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Ignis replied honestly. “Noct’s impossible to read, and I can’t tell now if that’s stubborness or trauma.”

“We both know that, whatever goes on when we can’t be there, it isn’t good. That split lip the other day is confirmation of that. The fact that he won’t remove anything, or so much as roll his sleeves up, says a lot.’

“Yes. I’m to help him prepare for the Festival of Etro. Which will be complicated without his input on how he would like his attires each day to look. Perhaps I’ll be permitted to hire the tailor for his suits and the makeup artists for the first days, as well as the costumers for the last ones. If so, if he’s hiding something, I will hopefully get a peek, which maybe will open a door for me to speak with him. Or to him, as it were.”

“What’s the point in dressing him up if he’s on house arrest?” Gladio balked.

“Likely, Lady Lunafreya will be hidden away elsewhere, and he’ll be brought out for publicity, before being tucked away again. Perhaps a dinner or two will be spent with the emperor. Hopefully in our presence. If I’m understanding my directions correctly, he’ll also be allowed out for meetings for his festival attires. I’m certain no one will be allowed in his room who isn’t already.”

“I don’t know how we can protect him, even if we find out,” Gladio said, his voice growing a bit distant as he stared into space.

Ignis moved to the wall across from him, leaning against it as well. “If he would cooperate, and we could share with the people what’s been happening…”

“They can’t be that stupid, Ignis.”

“It’s less about stupidity and more about hopeful resignation. The future hung on the very existence of Noct and Lady Lunafreya. With their roles all but entirely stripped away, the fact that they live on gives a breath of hope no one will readily admit to. If they were to learn that their good faith in the Empire treating the two with dignity and respect—”

“How could they ignore what happened to Lunafreya?” Gladio asked darkly. “What happened to her is a crime, even in Niflheim.”

Ignis drew quiet as he studied Gladio, from his tone, to his face, to his posture. “…that was an awfully personal declaration, Gladio.”

Gladio flinched, before deflating with a sag of his shoulders. “Izunia’s poking at Loqi about my sister.”

“Gladio…” Ignis’s face had fallen, his voice going quiet. “How did you hear?”

“Aranea. Loqi evidently ignored their differences to ask her for advice, or at least to complain, about the fact that Izunia’s insinuating it in conversations. He evidently isn’t too thrilled about the idea.”

Ignis thought for a moment about that. “Perhaps that’s the best scenario to hope for if that comes to pass.” Gladio shot him a piercing, angry look, and he held up his hands. “Hear me out.”

“I’m listening,” Gladio growled.

“If unable to fight a child-bride scenario, would you rather she go to a man who will disregard her age, or a man who I’ve seen treat her well, and doesn’t view her in that way?”

That glaring continued for a little longer, before Gladio sighed and once again sagged. “I see what you’re saying.”

“I’ve not seen him do anything but treat her kindly. Likely because she was so young when the Empire seized us. I imagine she’s next to being just as good as a child of Niflheim proper.” Ignis adjusted his glasses before folding his arms as well. “I know that doesn’t make it easier than it would be if things were the way they should be. I simply… feel we should all be prepared for… well… in the event nothing happens and that comes to pass.”

“Yeah.”

“We should focus on Noct and Lady Lunafreya for now. Let us not make any plans until we can assess the situation with them. Does Noct bear physical evidence of any sort of maltreatment? Is Lady Lunafreya content in her position as the bride of the emperor, or would she be willing to assist? I’ll have to leave her to you. There’s certainly no way I’ll be able to get close to her.”

“I’ll do my best. It’ll probably be for the better if I’m not seen with you or Noct for the time being, though.”

“You received my number, yes?”

“Yeah, I did,” Gladio confirmed, pulling his phone to show Ignis the entry in his phonebook for the steward.

“Then if we’ve something to discuss, we should use veiled language,” Ignis decided. “Not code, because that will become easy to decipher. No passwords or secret phrases. Simply something such as you stating you’d like to go for a drive,” he suggested. “And we can meet back here.”

“I can do that,” Gladio agreed. “Iris was eager to talk to me last night, but I was out.” Ignis knew that Gladio had an advantage that he couldn’t pass up, in the way he worked the soldiers of the Citadel. Gladio’s charisma had allowed him a lot of advantages, which allowed him to hear things that he wouldn’t have otherwise been allowed. “I don’t know if it’s about Loqi, but I’ll find out tonight. When can we meet tomorrow?”

“First thing at daybreak, if you don’t mind,” Ignis replied after some consideration. “I’ll update you should something change.”

Everything was getting so complicated, but at least there was a ray of hope in there somewhere. At least.

After saying their farewells, Gladio departed first, to scan for anyone who might’ve by chance trailed down there. Ignis was told to give him three minutes to scan as he reached the elevator, and then to follow. While the garage wasn’t off-limits for the steward, he knew his presence there would raise attention he didn’t want.

So, he did as he was asked, and was soon on the elevator alone, staring straight ahead as the elevator started to ascend for Noctis’s floor.

When it reached the first floor of the garage, the elevator settled to a stop, and Ignis stepped to the side to clear the way for whoever was joining him to get on, and freely reach the buttons.

He was more than a little surprised when he found himself being joined by a blond young man, no older than Noctis for sure. Dressed in fatigues that reminded Ignis a bit of the customs makes of Crownsguard, but in the colors of the Empire, the sullen boy stepped on and turned, pressing for the floor on which the commodores resided.

On his back a sniper rifle was strapped, with a revolver of some sort resting in a thigh holster. On the opposite side, a camera case was strapped on his belt. Was he one of Loqis? Because, to Ignis’s knowledge, the only ground soldiers Aranea commanded were the Kingsglaive, or her ‘dogs’ as they were so often disrespected with.

“I’ve not seen you before,” Ignis commented.

The young man looked at him with hollow eyes. Soulless eyes that almost reflected a look Noctis carried at times. “…I’m new,” he replied, quiet and honestly sounding a bit hesitant.

“Ah. Well. I’m Ignis Scientia,” Ignis said, bowing his head slightly to him. “Are you reporting to Commodore Tummelt?”

“No. Commodore Highwind.” And then he was training his blue eyes against the door again.

Ignis had been hoping to get a return introduction, but clearly the boy was of the Empire, and it wasn’t his place to push. So, they rode in silence after that, before the elevator was stopping on the commodores’ floor.

The blond stepped out, and Ignis said, “Farewell,” with no expectation of reply.

Turning, the young man looked into him as the doors started to slide shut. “…Prompto Argentum,” he said quietly, ending just as the doors closed.

Prompto wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad idea, to give Ignis Scientia that information. He hadn’t been told he couldn’t interact with others by Aranea. In fact, she encouraged it, so long as he displayed ‘discernment’. But discernment was hard to use when one never had to practice using it in the last eight years.

Oh well. What was done was done. Prompto turned away from the closed elevator and started on for Aranea’s workshop. He ignored all others as he walked, regardless of whether they took notice of him or not. When he reached the doors, he glanced around him to ensure no one was in the hall, before knocking a total of seven times—one, two-three, four, five-six, seven—and then using his barcode to enter.

Aranea had a secret way of handling her dogs. Prompto had no reason to report it, either. It brought her good results, treating them as sentient humans and not just animals. What was the point in calling something like that out if it worked to the advantage of all?

Others foolishly disagreed, so she asked that Prompto enter only after knocking like that, so that she would know it was him and to not worry about being caught allowing the Glaives to free-roam the massive area.

Inside the room, it was waited until he passed in and closed the doors before the cages opened via a switch by Aranea, allowing the others to walk around and mingle. Prompto paid it no mind, walking up to Aranea and bowing.

“How’d it go?” she asked from her desk, watching him carefully.

“I’ve been told to shadow Prince Noctis once the Festival of Etro started,” he advised, referring to a meeting with Ardyn Izunia and Verstael Besithia that had occurred in a way that the child in him thought of mafia movies with how it happened. In a limousine, starting at twilight in dawn.

“To prevent him from going to Lady Lunafreya?” Aranea asked.

“Yes. My orders are to go past him on occasion, but to otherwise stay out of sight. To give him a sense of being followed, but not confirmation,” Prompto confirmed.

Aranea chewed on her lip as she thought about that, and nodded. “If you have to stop him, what are your orders regarding force?”

“Shoot to maim.”

“No shooting,” Aranea immediately overrode. Prompto didn’t see the worried looks of the Glaives around them relax at her. “The prince hasn’t practiced combat in eight years. You could easily take him down without injuring him, yes?”

Prompto hesitated, and nodded after a moment. “Yes, commodore.”

“Then that’s what you’ll do.” Prompto had no idea that the idea was more charitable than Aranea let on. “He’s going to have to make public appearances over the course of the festival, so to avoid anyone getting upset, we need him uninjured.”

“Acknowledged, commodore.” The mission would still be completed, so altering his orders to abide by Aranea’s preferences first were acceptable.

“Now, why don’t you get ready to leave for a while?” Aranea suggested, gesturing over to the weapons’ locker that she brought in for him.

“What?” Prompto asked, glancing at it, and then back in confusion.

Aranea stood and looked at him unapologetically. “We have to make sure you’re ready for the festival, too.”

“But I’m not from here,” Prompto protested.

“But if you’re going to be shadowing the prince, you need to blend in when he’s in the public eye, because my orders will mean you have to be closer to him.”

That was true. While he was a fast runner, there were still limitations.

A small part of him hoped that he wouldn’t have to take Prince Noctis down at all. He vaguely remembered seeing him as kids, and… well, that small, small part of him wondered if, in a better place or time, they could have been friends.

It wasn’t a wish, or a hope. Prompto didn’t ‘wish’ or ‘hope’ in any capacity he could recognize as either. He simply… wondered, was all.

———

“Iris!” Gladiolus called as he passed through the front door of the Amicitia household. The sun had already begun to set by the time he got there, but his somewhat late arrival was due to his trying to scope out Lady Lunafreya’s security detail without being caught. If he was to get in close to her, he needed to know exactly what he was up against.

His little sister was seated in the front room, watching a video on her tablet. He knew that because she popped one of her earbuds out and said, “Your slut from last night showed up for a while. I wish you’d stop giving them our address.”

“Don’t use that language,” he scolded.

“Is it better if I say you’re a slut, too?” she asked, her tone flat and clearly unhappy with him.

“I’m not denying anything, so if it’s a fight you want, you have to try harder than that.” He went around and dropped onto the couch beside her.

“I really needed to talk to you last night,” she insisted quietly, not looking at him.

“I’m sorry. I went out with some of the soldiers at the Citadel, and got carried away,” he apologized. “Surely it’s something we can talk about right now.”

“I dunno.”

“Iris,” Gladio scolded. “If this is some stupid crap because I just wasn’t home…”

She made a dissatisfied noise at that and lifted off the seat of the couch to pull something out that she’d been sitting on. It was a notebook that was hanging open on a specific page, and she threw it into his lap while sidling away from him.

“Noct started writing for me yesterday,” she grumbled.

“What? Are you serious?” Gladio asked, seriously stunned. His sister’s tantrum was forgotten as he straightened out the notebook to look at the page that was displayed. It was clear that Iris had full intentions of discussing the situation, since she had the notebook with her, but she sometimes lacked patience and got mad if her big brother couldn’t run to her right away. He was seriously looking forward to when she got a bit older and less emotional. As it was, teen girls were a force to be reckoned with, so he was going to let her tire herself out before trying to actually discuss her anger.

Iris never responded, and left him to look over the notebook’s page. It felt like he was seeing an old document from centuries past, it had been so long since he’d last seen Noctis’s handwriting.

And then, as he read what was written—clearly responses to Iris’s verbal comments at the time—he felt his blood go cold, before it began to boil from anger.

—

_‘Talking is a mistake, but never personal against you guys.’_

_-_

_‘I know you’re too young to remember, but the Empire’s our enemy, Iris. I watched your dad die right next to mine. You were five, so I get it, and I’m not mad that you think the way you do, but I was ten. I remember. I remember before, during, and after, and my story now is different from yours. I’m not going to talk. I would, behind closed doors, but I don’t trust there not to be bugs everywhere, watching and waiting.’_

_-_

_‘Even the smallest sound will give them satisfaction when they do everything they can to make me say something, or yell in pain. I’m sorry Gladio worries, but there’s nothing he could do, anyway. Him or Ignis. Talking about what happens when they’re not around will do nothing but torture them, because they know they can’t do anything just like I know I can’t. Letting them see my lip was cut open was a mistake. I won’t be making the same again.’_

_-_

_‘Since the start.’_

_-_

_‘Some, but I can hide all of them.’_

_-_

_‘Once. My kidney.’_

—

“Were you asking him how long, how bad, and the worst?” Gladio asked Iris, his voice dark but as soft as he could manage for her.

She nodded, glancing at him briefly, meekly. “I… don’t know why he finally cracked about it, but I thought you should know.”

“…thank you.” Ignis was going to have to hear about it.

If there was one thing right about that day, it was Noctis’s words about how knowing about his being hurt would be torture to Gladiolus. Officially his Shield or not, he was supposed to protect him. The worst of it was that he doubted Noctis was even actually divulging a third of truth in those writings.

No, the worst of it was that Ignis and Gladio had always feared molestation for Noctis. Receiving news that he’d been hiding physical trauma, coupled with Ardyn’s abhorrent insinuations to Ignis… if true, that latter part, it was no wonder Noctis didn’t want to talk, even if he claimed he was doing it so the Niffs couldn’t win something over on him.

“Thank you, Iris,” Gladio said quietly. “I’ll… I don’t know what we can do about this, but I’ll talk with Iggy first chance I can.”

“That’s all you can do, I’m sure,” Iris replied quietly, knowing. She was acting as though a facade she’d been living in had shattered. It made Gladio regret what he was about to do all the more.

“Iris, do you know the chancellor is insinuating to Loqi that he should marry you?” he asked quietly. He couldn’t hide it from her. She deserved to know if there was a scheme like that under way.

“What?” she breathed, finally darkening the screen of her tablet and pulling out her earphones. “But he’s—”

“I know.”

“And I’m—”

“I know, Iris.” He took a deep breath and looked at her. “I’m told he’s not thrilled about it, either. Which could be good. He might not hurt you—”

“But I don’t want—”

“ _I know_ ,” Gladio insisted, to get Iris to stop interrupting and listen. “There are… a lot of things going on right now. Things you can’t see, or even know about,” he said quietly. “I’m asking you, as your brother, to please keep playing along.” Iris looked betrayed at the request, but didn’t argue for the moment, allowing him to continue to speak. “Just be your cheerful self and remember that Loqi’s not the enemy. He’s a dick, but he’s been nice to you, and he’s not the enemy right now. Not with this.” Oh, how he wanted to throw up at saying that, true as it might’ve been. “Everything that’s going on might fail, and you might jeopardize your health and safety if you don’t act as you always do. Likewise, if I don’t have to worry about you getting hurt, I can focus on… everything else. It’ll be like an undercover mission.” One he knew she could do, with a little bit of script retooling to make herself convincing. “In exchange, I’m going to do everything in my power to make things right.”

“Gladdy…” she trailed off, frowning.

Gladio sighed and slid back to her side, to pull her into a gentle hug. “I’ll tell you things as you need to know them,” he whispered as he rubbed her back. “I need you to be able to say you know nothing, and to mean it.”

Which would likely be sooner rather than later. Gladio felt as though the time they would need to act was shortening significantly with every revelation they were receiving; with every bit of bad news that rolled in.

They were going to need a plan, a day of execution, and room to modify that plan and day of execution as necessary.


	14. 5 Days Until

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. I've been getting hammered hard by life and BS, and then I struggled about halfway through (as you'll probably notice as you read it). Things should get more interesting in the next chapter.
> 
> The key word being 'should' LOL

Something was off with Ignis when he came to Noctis’s room that morning. First, there was the fact that he didn’t have a tailor with him, but was instead carrying a kit for measuring Noctis himself.

The prince raised his hands in question when Ignis entered, and he earned the answer of, “My apologies. I got to thinking last night, and I wanted to do this for you myself. I trust my hand over another’s.”

Noctis looked rather confused, because he was _really_ confused. Ignis wasn’t an expert at tailoring or anything of that nature. He could mend clothes, but measuring and stuff?

“Oh, come now, it’s not that odd, is it? I was meant to learn such things anyway. I’m simply taking the return of the Festival of Etro to teach myself.”

Noctis snorted and stepped over, to get into position for Ignis. Ignis finished preparing the cloth tape measure, before standing and looking at Noctis. “This would be easier if you wouldn’t mind making me _not_ have to compensate for your clothing.”

Wide-eyed, Noctis shook his head sharply.

“If these clothes are anything less than perfect, you know we’ll all hear about it,” Ignis pressed, his voice quiet but firm. “I’ve heard rumors you’ll be required to spend at least some of the dinners with the emperor and chancellor.”

Noctis simply stared at Ignis. He didn’t want to take off his clothes. His body had still-fading bruises, and some scars that were beyond those left from his near-death experience at eight years of age. Ignis was right, yes, but… would it be everything Noctis tried to avoid for so many years, to spare Ignis and Gladiolus the knowledge of what they were unable to protect him from.

As a result of Noctis’s internal conflict, he found himself just standing and staring at Ignis rather stupidly. Ignis said… something, but he wasn’t honestly sure what, because he wasn’t listening. It felt an awful lot like he was slipping into a panic attack, something he hadn’t had in many years simply because it was the difference between keeping himself in a state that he could defend himself, and a state of being broken beyond compare. One might’ve thought such things were uncontrollable, but pain and fear were powerful motivators when it meant survival, and the best for those one cared about.

It was about then, as Noctis realized what his mind was trying to do, that he made the decision to just start pulling off his clothes, down to his underwear. The action even surprised Ignis, who took a step back to give him space.

His jacket, his shirt, his shoes, socks and his pants were all off quickly enough, leaving him in just his boxers, and the evidence left behind from eight years of the Empire. From the bruises that had long turned black and green on his chest and stomach, to the long, thin scars across his back and upper arms, his skin told a story that he could tell Ignis wasn’t prepared for.

As Ignis slowly approached with a softly spoken, “Noct… why?” the prince found himself spacing out, unwiling to comprehend what he just submitted himself to.

Ignis reached forward and took his left arm, first turning it towards his body to look at the drawn out lines, clearly from being whipped with something thin and long—the worst thing to be struck by, the prince learned long ago—and grimacing. Then, he turned it delicately outward, revealing a scar Noctis had honestly forgotten about, on the inside of his upper arm. It was stretched out as he grew since it was delivered, but the way it marred his skin in a perfect circle made it unmistakably clear that it was a burn mark, from a cigar and a commander that had since passed from a heart attack.

That was when Ignis did something that neither young man had experienced in a very long time: He pulled Noctis in for a hug. It was firm, yet careful of the existing bruises on his body.

It was Noctis’s turn to be taken aback. He just stood there, eyes wide and arms hanging at his sides. He had no idea how to handle it. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was foreign in ways it shouldn’t have been. They were brothers. Ever since Ignis was brought into his life when he was six years old, they did nothing but spend endless time with one another outside of their schooling. Noctis used to cling to him, before the incident when he was eight. Even then, even after that, he spent a great deal of time with him.

So why was it so uncomfortable?

“I’m so sorry,” Ignis whispered as he held onto his younger friend. “I’m so sorry everything and everyone has failed you. That Gladio and I have failed you.”

Noctis had been prepared to accept what Ignis was saying in silence and without reaction, but when he apologized for his and Gladio’s ‘failure’, Noctis started to shake his head hard, and he pushed Ignis back to glare at him.

That stunned Ignis briefly, until he began to understand why Noctis was shaking his head so insistently. He was denying that Ignis and Gladio had failed him. “But we have,” the young steward whispered remorsefully. “At the very least, we should have seen something was wrong…”

Again, Noctis shook his head.

“I know you feel compelled to say that out of some sense of duty as the prince,” Ignis said quietly. “And as a friend. I’m afraid that doesn’t change the fact, and I am so very sorry for that.”

Noctis visibly bit down on the inside of his cheek and turned his head away at that.

Ignis watched him in silence for a time, before stepping up again. “Come now, let us get you measured. The suit will be ready tomorrow for final fitting, and I’ll have a makeup artist coming with me. I’ve no clue what tomorrow will bring, but the least we can do is give you every advantage for safety that we can.”

Noctis nodded slowly, but at that point, he had withdrawn to a point that Ignis knew he would no longer really interact. So, measure Ignis did, writing down the lengths of seams and inseams on his new phone. He had so many questions, but given that any answers that weren’t a simple ‘no’ would be too complex to give, Ignis left it alone. He got confirmation of prolonged physical abuse. Something about receiving confirmation of something he had long expected was a massive relief to him. A relief he felt guilty over, but knowing the previously unknown was good.

After he finished measuring Noctis, he helped him dress, and collected his things. “I’m going to attempt to capitalize on the chancellor’s generosity towards you and me,” he advised quietly. “To see if I can’t at least take to making you dinner again. I’m not exactly charismatic as Gladio is, but Chancellor Izunia strikes me as more a man interested in intelligence than charm.”

Noctis nodded in understanding.

“He’s not hurt you, has he? Beyond what I witnessed yesterday.”

Noctis gave a firm, believable shake of his head.

“Alright…” Ignis sighed a bit, and stepped in to hug Noctis once more. “Stay strong, Noct.”

He headed out, just across the way for a small office stationed near Noctis’s room. Many a times as a child, waiting for Noctis to wake from his coma, did Ignis hole up in there. It allowed him to study, and to be close by should something have changed about Noctis’s condition. He even got a visit from King Regis on occasion, whether he was coming or going, to graciously give Ignis updates on Noctis’s condition. He had been such a kind ruler, and man. He treated Ignis like his own. Never once did he become cross, and when Ignis would try to take the blame for Noctis’s doing something bad, Regis would half-heartedly pretend to scold him, only to later thank him for being such a devout friend, once Noctis was off and away.

The office in the present day was dusty and unused, and it took Ignis some time to call for someone to bring cleaning products, which then allowed for him to clean the room as best he could, so he could finally sit down and start processing orders to the tailor and the makeup artist for Noctis.

Just as he was about to send a call out, he was started out of his concentration by a playful, “Do make sure to order their time for yourself as well, hm?”

Ignis didn’t even look up before he was standing and bowing. “Chancellor Izunia.”

“Did you hear me?” Ardyn asked as he moved in with that egotistical swagger of his. “A prince shouldn’t be without equally fashioned help.”

“I’m afraid the budget I’ve been issued will only cover Prince Noctis if he’s to be dressed in a way suitable for the Citadel and its occupants.”

“It’s not enough?” the chancellor asked, surprised.

“It’s enough for Noct,” Ignis reiterated. “I’m afraid nothing and no one else, however.”

“Oh, that’s just silly. Whatever have they been doing to you boys?” Ardyn scoffed as he pulled his phone. “I’m just going to have to call Becky down in Accounting and give her a piece of my mind~”

Ignis had to fight to not make a face at that. He’d heard of Ardyn’s off-color jokes, but it was odd to actually hear them. “I don’t know what to say, chancellor.”

“Go ahead and place orders for yourself,” Ardyn said with a wave of his hand. “You’ll have the new budget within the hour.”

“Yes, chancellor. My sincerest appreciation for such an outstanding consideration.”

“Ohoho, careful!” Ardyn chuckled as he turned on his heel, apparently taking to only making a cameo at that time. “I _am_ looking for my own steward. I’d hate to have to steal Prince Noctis’s!”

The idea made Ignis a bit sick, but despite that, he said, “As great an honor such a scenario might be, I’m quite out of touch. I barely know how to cook for Noct any longer, as I’ve been banned from doing so for many years.”

“They’ve just been so cruel,” Ardyn said, turning in the doorway, his voice carrying in with a weird sort of… combination between genuine and sarcastic. “You do what you must for him, hm? If anyone has any argument at all, you tell them to speak to me.”

“You’re a breath of fresh air, chancellor,” Ignis said, sounding as genuine as he could while bowing again.

“Sweet lad, you’ve no idea,” Ardyn said with a chuckle. He turned and disappeared from the doorway.

Ignis assumed that meant it went well. If he could continue to gradually get more liberties for Noctis and himself, maybe they could protect him from those abusing him. That was all Ignis truly wanted.

Nevertheless, he sat himself down and started making his calls. Noctis—and he, at that point—would need a tailor, a makeup artist, and a costumer. For the first four days, their faces and bodies would be painted in increasing degrees, with fine suits. The last three days involved masks, increasing in size, with more costume-like attires if one wished. A different look for each day, as they celebrated Etro. Masks for death, black for the Lucii and Etro both, and different meanings to each day.

The three he contacted were happy to work with him and the prince, but asked if they could meet that day so he could help them prepare exactly what to do each day. The first day was the least troublesome since it was about paint around the eyes and a suit, and the costumer wasn’t needed until Day Five, and they would have time to prepare the other days. He agreed, and invited them to the Citadel. After that, he collected his things again and stood, so he could head for his bedroom to drop things off and get to the main lobby.

As he walked, and boarded the elevator, he drew his phone and went to text to Gladio. ‘ _I was able to get the proper measurements for Noct for his clothes during the festival._ ’ Gladio was no stranger to being measured, and knowing it was best when there were no clothes to contend with.

‘ _Cool. I’d offer to come see the plans, but I’ll be heading down south at about 10pm, and have to be ready_.’

That was clever code. Ignis was going to give him props for that one. ‘ _Very well_.’ It went to their benefit that they had known one another for as long as they had, to know that Gladio had just advised that he’d meet him in their meeting place at ten that night, to Ignis’s agreement.

As he stepped out of the elevator for his room, he stopped to see the blond boy he kept crossing paths with, standing and waiting to board an elevator. “Prompto?” he asked. He turned to catch the elevator before it closed. “We keep crossing paths.”

“Seems so,” Prompto replied, watching Ignis with the most weary look on his face. Ignis pitied him, because it was clear he was a boy who had seen some things in his time.

“Do you have free run of the Citadel?” Ignis made sure to keep his tone light and inquisitive, though he was genuinely curious if he should be secretly mad at the fact.

“More or less,” Prompto replied. “I have orders.”

“I see.” Ignis nodded to the elevator then, after regarding him for a moment. “Well, elevator’s all yours, if you’d like it.”

“Thank you.” The boy passed him by and entered, turning to press his button and gaze out at Ignis. “If you require help with anything, you’re welcome to ask. I’m under orders to assist you and Prince Noctis if you need it.”

“I appreciate that, Prompto. Thank you.”

Ignis lifted his hand away, and as the doors closed, Prompto’s soldier-straight posture sagged and he breathed out. Placing a hand on his stomach, he felt a little sick. He had so many conflicting orders piling in on him as of late, and he wasn’t sure how to follow them all.

Aranea gave him just orders. Ones that rang true to the little boy who thought he would be safe when the Empire made their role call for children with Niflheim blood.

Verstael gave him orders that were easy to follow, but more in line with scientific gain. In his left pouch, he carried a round of specialized bullets that he could either fire or use manually, as they were a type of high-impact syringe. Inside them, a black-purple mixture rested. He was told that times would come that he would summon Prompto to go after specific targets with those bullets. Not to kill them, but to infect them with the bullets’ contents. He would know how to handle them once the infection started; he just needed Prompto to make it happen in the first place.

Emperor Aldercapt had him going on regular missions in the middle of the night, out into the city to find outspoken Niflheim citizens who had started to see things a different way. While Prompto hadn’t yet had to kill them, he was ordered to spend the whole night tracking them, learning their habits and haunts, and developing a plan of action if the threats from others serving the emperor didn’t get heeded.

Prompto didn’t dread any of these things in isolation, but they had already begun to cross over, and he was sworn to individual silence. What was he supposed to do, the day a target from Verstael and the emperor were one in the same?

Although he didn’t mention this conflict, or even the orders he was given, it was as though Aranea knew; or suspected, at the very least. He could feel it in her tone when she directed him to go find Commander Nox Fleuret and ‘get advice from him’. Prompto asked for clarification, but she wouldn’t give it, and eventually he found himself on a full scale hunt for Ravus. She also had handed him a letter that he would need to pass to the commander, and asked that he not open it. That was an easy order.

Every place he went, they would tell him that he just narrowly missed the guy, and to go to another part of the Citadel.

It took some time, and several more stops, before he finally crossed paths with him. He was just leaving the throne room at that point, and Prompto immediately stood at attention when he was close enough. “Excuse me, sir,” he beckoned.

Ravus stopped, clearly preparing to pass him by without word, and looked him over. “Yes?”

Prompto stared at him for a moment, before bowing his head. “Commander,” he said, in that moment conflicted about asking any questions. The man seemed busy. “I have a letter from Commodore Highwind.”

“…alright.” Ravus extended his hand to Prompto, who obliged the reach with the sealed, red envelope from his largest pouch. “Thank you,” the commander added, going to open and pull out the letter, written on a paper the color of old parchment.

Staying where he was, because he hadn’t been dismissed, and Ravus hadn’t yet moved on, he watched as the somber, yet otherwise neutral, expression on the commander’s face began to twist. While he didn’t completely overreact to whatever was on the paper, his eyes slanted as he narrowed them, his lips pressing together in a flat-lined scowl.

“…sir?” Prompto asked. Even though his voice and expression were really quite impersonal, his concern was genuine.

Ravus cleared his throat and folded the paper away, tucking it into the envelope. While opening his coat enough to tuck the envelope into his lapel pocket, he looked at Prompto. “Have you seen Commodore Tummelt?”

“Last I knew, he was in his section on the fourth floor, sir.”

“Thank you for bringing this letter. Dismissed.”

With that, without waiting for Prompto to start on his way, or even acknowledge Ravus, he started away in search of Loqi.

Loqi’s section of the commodores’ floor was one that was remarkably vacant of personnel. It spoke to his ego that he kept it so empty, likely not seeing many as being worthy of being in that space. There were guards, but only one per door where there were important things beyond, such as the armory or the like.

There were a total of three at his office door, and Ravus spent no time shoving through them and bursting through, to the library-like room, overly sized and dormant of furniture outside of a desk, and a few chairs by the book-lined walls. He didn’t even have guest chairs seated in front of his desk, to force visitors to stand.

That was hardly a concern for him, though, because as Loqi looked up to him, Ravus was already at the desk and reaching over to grab him by the collar of his armor. He hefted him to his feet and forced him to stand.

“A little girl?” he growled.

“Wh-What?”

“Iris Amicitia. I received a rather detailed letter explaining there’s talk of you and she.”

“I don’t want to!” the younger man protested. “I didn’t ask for it!”

“Then whose idea was it?” Ravus demanded, his voice low and threatening.

“Chancellor Izunia is the one who keeps—who keeps talking about it.” Detecting a loosening of Ravus’s grasp, Loqi wrenched free and fell back into his seat. “He brought it up, but there’s nothing concrete. It felt more like a threat or something of that sort,” he rambled as he adjusted his hair and his armor. “I assure you, I have no interest in children.”

“Do you not realize what happened to my sister?” Ravus asked, not entirely certain he believed what Loqi was telling him. “Or are you among the far too many who think she volunteered for her marrying Aldercapt?”

“That’s none of my concern,” Loqi replied, although he faltered a bit.

Ravus stared at him rather harshly for a good, long while. On some level, he knew he couldn’t exactly blame Loqi for not understanding the messed up nature of that marriage. He would’ve been eleven, twelve years old, steeped in a proud culture that was dominating the world, and in the privileges of a noble boy. Why _would_ he question it? Would the Lucians have questioned it if it had been King Regis instead?

…well, most likely, but not all of them.

“Fight it,” Ravus finally said, his voice lowering, imploring. “As much as you can. If you _truly_ don’t want that, you need to fight it.”

“Niflheim blood only gets one so far,” Loqi advised, head down as he spun a pen around on the desk.

“You believe they’ll force you,” Ravus said, rather than questioned.

“If either the emperor or chancellor want something, there’s nothing anyone else can do about it.” Loqi looked up at Ravus. “People of Niflheim are preferred, but we’re still lesser than them.”

“I hope you realize there is only so far that people will allow the depravity to go before they push back.”

“Lucians out in the wilds push back all the time.”

“They’ll push harder and rally the people within Insomnia, too. The marriages that happened already were done during a period of time when chaos prevented the people from seeing before it was all said and done. Things are settled now, under the guise of ‘unified peace’,” Ravus warned quietly. “If that illusion shatters…”

“I’ll protest as much as is safe,” Loqi said. “It’s a death wish those who fight have if they choose to do so.”

Ravus was close to responding with something that, if reported, would have gotten him into quite a lot of trouble. However, he was saved when both their phones when off with an emergency signal. They paused their discussion to look at their phones, an alert message displaying and flashing.

[ DAEMONIC BREAK-IN / SOUTH SUBWAY SYSTEM / POWER OUTAGE ALLOWED FOR SPAWN / MILITARY REINFORCEMENTS REQUESTED ASAP ]

“That’s me,” Loqi said as he pushed to his feet.

“Do you require assistance?” Ravus asked as he looked from his phone, and watched the younger man round his desk.

“No, I’ve got it.” He turned to walk backwards, so he could look at Ravus one last time. “It won’t happen without resistance, even if how much I resist isn’t ideal.”

“All I ask for is an attempt. If for no other reason than your own conscience.” Loqi had a conscience, didn’t he?

The commodore nodded, and turned on his heel once more, to jog out of the room.

The entire situation was stupid. Ravus needed more time to get a handle on what was going on, and to figure out the next best course of action. He realized that would eventually mean speaking to Gladiolus Amicitia, but he would drag that out as long as possible. That was a bridge long burned and left to sink.

———

Ten o’clock. When Gladio got to that room that he and Ignis agreed to use as a meeting room, he wasn’t all that surprised to find Ignis was already there. Early if not prompt as always.

“Yo,” Gladio greeted as he entered and closed the door. “They’re having a major problem in one of the subway systems, so I can’t stay long.”

“I heard on the news,” Ignis acknowledged. “They’re deploying you, then?”

“I’ve been asked, yeah.” He moved over to one of the canvas camping chairs he’d brought down early that morning, so he and Ignis could just relax when they met there. Even if someone stumbled upon the room, given the state of disrepair that the rest of the garage floor was in, they wouldn’t have cause to suspect the worn chairs. “What do you have?”

“It’s as we feared,” Ignis advised, crossing his legs with ankle to knee. “Aged bruises, no doubt from the day we saw his split lip. Scars, old and new, stretched with age and done after his growth spurts alike.” As he spoke, he tried to remain clinical and factual, but Gladio could see the cracks in his facade as he watched the darkened screen of his phone. “He insisted in his own way that we’re not to blame. I tried to convey that it’s not that simple, just saying we’re not to feel so.”

“The logical stance, but that hardly accounts for everything else.”

“He doesn’t understand what we were raised for.”

“I know.”

Ignis sighed a bit and looked up to Gladio. “I’ve a meeting I requested in the morning with the chancellor.”

That was surprising. “Oh? Your wiles working?”

“Hardly wiles. That is the oddest projection you’ve done to date.” Ignis pressed up on his glasses. “No. I’d like to give Noct the opportunity to show defiance during the Festival of Etro through his outfits each day. But I need to secure his safety to do so. The chancellor seems oddly fixated on improving our lives, his and mine, so I want to request that Noctis be allowed to safely represent his family and Etro as is his birthright. I will explain that, if he’s to be photographed or shown to the public in any way, it will be profoundly favorable to the Empire to make it seem that he’s been left alone with his heritage.”

“Interesting,” Gladio said, though he had some doubts. “Aren’t you concerned about what you walked in to yesterday?”

“Of course I am, but that wasn’t a subject that I could breach without him being willing to speak to me, or at least write as he did with Iris,” Ignis replied. “He gave no extreme reaction to touch, or even a subtle one. Either way, we have to do what we can, and if that includes making a deal with the Devil, so to speak, then so be it. I have to spare him this. I have to spare him for at least a week.”

Desperation and pain edged into Ignis’s voice, something he was clearly trying to fight away so Gladio wouldn’t pick up on it. He did, though, and saved him by saying, “Let me know. As for my side of things, I haven’t been able to get close to Lunafreya yet. Since I’ve been relieved of my babysitting job, I have no reason for it. I’m working on buttering up the guards that surround her on the floor above Noct’s and the Emperor’s bedrooms. It’s going well. I was going to go out with them tonight after their shifts, but the subway situation needs me more.”

“I trust you’re doing all you can, Gladio,” Ignis reassured. “Political espionage doesn’t take a day, or a week. Sometimes, it takes years.”

“We don’t _have_ years.”

“We don’t, but we have more than a day,” his friend pressed. He nodded towards the door. “Go on, I’ll follow you out. In a few minutes as before. We’ll meet again tomorrow, say at midnight? Varying our meeting times will do us well.”

Gladio nodded and went to stand, watching Ignis for a moment. Ignis was always paternal to an almost unnecessary degree, even when they were still kids, so he knew the situation and what he learned that day was striking him considerably hard.

“Call me if you need, whenever,” Gladio offered. He patted Ignis’s shoulder, while the younger man nodded, and then proceeded out of the room.

Time for battle, he supposed. In more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading!
> 
> If you ever want to seek me out to message privately or something, I'm over at http://terminalsonata.tumblr.com/


	15. 4 Days Until

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This took way longer than I was hoping. I sincerely apologize. Updates will likely be a bit slower overall, at least for a while.
> 
> Anyway: One of my frequent readers, RikkuShinra, wanted to see what happens in this first part, so I’m going to do that! It’s not EXACTLY what was asked for, but #muses #ihavenocontrolovermylife
> 
> Also, take heed of the edit to series’ that this has been added to, because that’s going to be important later. You’re getting a hint in this piece, though!

By the time 3:00 A.M. rolled around, Gladiolus was more than a little tired, and more than a little angry, even if his outer demeanor didn’t show it.

Daemonic outbreaks _never_ happened when King Regis was alive. Never. The Wall protected them. Even in the darkest recesses of Insomnia, they were free from daemonic attacks. While he was thankful that they didn’t make Noctis ascend just to make him fuel the shield (not that he supposed Noctis would allow that; Gladio could see the kid shoving a knife in his own throat before he cooperated with that at all), had they never invaded at all, they wouldn’t be standing there with bodies littered around them. Bodies, and body parts.

“What do you suppose the call should be?” The question came with a tone that knew; a tone that was testing.

Gladio looked at the speaker, who was none other than Ravus Nox Fleuret. “You’re asking me?”

“If you have hopes of beating the odds and commanding as I do, you should accept the offer to provide counsel,” the no-nonsense older man said.

He had a point, even though it was odd that he was speaking to Gladio at all. He couldn’t think of the last time they exchanged words with one another. Gladio looked around the shut down terminal. “The attacks’ve slowed, so probably stationing people around the clock here to ensure civilians don’t get hurt would work,” he said. “Maybe ten to start, and cut it down as long as the appearances continue to dwindle.”

“My thoughts are much the same,” Ravus agreed, stoic and stern as always.

“Couldn’t Lady Lunafreya cleanse the area?”

“Yes, but that won’t happen,” the commander replied tightly. Gladio knew why, and it just made his stomach ball a little more with the reminder that her horrid fate could also be his sister’s. “Go around and secure any of the doors that don’t lead to exits,” Ravus continued. “The trains are shut down until six, and the center rail is dead until we finish here, so you can go back and forth as necessary. After doing so, order five to this side, five to the other, and then go home.”

“Sir,” Gladio acknowledged as Ravus turned and headed away from him as briskly as he had arrived. He really couldn’t begrudge the man. Stripped of his mother, his title and his sister. The fact that the Empire allowed him to be the commander of their armies as he was was incredible.

Gladio went to latching his large sword to his back, wishing he could have had the power he would have had he been a retainer to Noctis, and his Shield, as he was supposed to be. Being able to stow weapons out of sight by magic had been something that left him transfixed through his younger years with his father. He could remember as a boy asking his father to show him, again and again, how he pulled his weapons and then put them away, the blue shimmer of the King’s Armiger magic, crystal-like in nature, had been incredible.

He kept his shield on his arm, as he went to securing doors that he knew for sure didn’t have an exit beyond them, just in case a daemon jumped out on him.

The only time that did happen was when he jumped down to the subway tracks, and started across. Springing from a murky puddle of blood and scourge, a goblin jumped to action, and he slammed into it with his shield, before bring out his sword again and slamming it into the creature, breaking whatever served as bones inside its body and crushing it so the black ooze within would return to the ground from whence it came. Goblins were weak, so he wasn’t particularly disturbed. It was much better than the Iron Giant that decided to emerge in the tallest area of the terminal, requiring the efforts of twenty soldiers and himself to take down. (Another fact that made him bitter: With the King’s power, it would have taken a fifth as many to do it.)

Once he disposed of the weak daemon, he crossed over and hoisted up to the other platform, to start checking doors. Although, he found himself stopping when he heard Loqi shouting orders to his men. “Get the bodies tagged and start bagging them,” he snapped. “Trucks will be coming to handle the actual transport.”

Gladio stayed where he was, looking across at the armored commodore, who turned from the saluting group of soldiers to start for the stairs leading up. Without really realizing what he was doing, Gladio soon found himself following Loqi with silent steps. The kid should’ve felt someone behind him, but he didn’t react at all, and it allowed Gladio to stick the bottom of his shield out just enough so that, when Loqi brought his leg up to take the next step ahead of him, it was slamming into ‘something’ and causing him to fall face first into the stairs.

“What is this?!” Loqi shouted before he had a look at who it was.

“You don’t have a good relationship with stairs, do you, commodore?” Gladio asked quietly, darkly.

Loqi froze in his efforts to get up quite so fast and, after that pause, moved more slowly, cautiously, as he worked to turn around first and foremost to look at Gladio. To get him in his sights, and his back away from Gladio. “Amicitia,” he said, just as slowly.

Gladio didn’t respond, resting his shield’s bottom on the floor, and leaning his elbow against it as he watched Loqi. Many things played over in his mind to say to the guy. Threats. Questions. Threats. Requests for confirmation. Also, threats. However, in the end, he didn’t threaten, or question, or threaten, or request, or even threaten. Instead, he just watched him with a look of knowing.

For as dense as Loqi willfully was, that look was clear as day, and he said, “I want you to know I’ve never even had those sorts of thoughts about Iris.”

“Soldiers say you’re pretty friendly to her for her being a Lucian,” Gladio replied darkly, still so quiet.

“Because she’s a _child_ and she’s as close to a person of Niflheim one of you can get in her youth,” Loqi snapped, even though he was being quiet as well. He had yet to actually get up to his feet. “That’s _it_.”

“Tell them _no_.”

“It doesn’t work that way. Even for a ‘Niff’, as you call us.”

“But you’re not _just_ any Niff. You’re a commodore and I know you’re nobility.”

Loqi snorted at that and finally went to stand. Where he was, higher on the stairs to Gladio, set him at eye level with the giant. “And you were supposed to be the prince’s Shield,” he scoffed.

“The hell does that mean?”

Loqi stepped down one stair to get closer to Gladio, so he could drop his voice even more. “Nobility and royalty rarely get the right to marry for ‘love’, Amicitia,” he said darkly. “I know you Lucians have more sentimentality to your relationships of that level, but no noble or royal gets married for such things in the Empire, and we have less a right to say ‘no’ than the common person.”

“…are you suggesting that this proposition was somehow… political?” Gladio asked, so disarmed but not really in the way one might’ve expected.

“…I don’t know. I’ve tried to figure that out,” Loqi admitted, faltering in his challenging movements and tone. “There’s no real political merit to it. There’s nothing to gain. All I know is it’s the chancellor saying it.”

“And only him?”

Loqi nodded. “To me, anyway.”

Gladio mouthed a curse as he looked to the side, unhappy. What was that asshole’s deal? Helping Ignis and Noctis, but trying to sell off his sister?

“I’ll fight where I can, but I can’t do much,” Loqi said, reiterating what he told Ravus the previous day, albeit a little more civilly than he had with Ravus. “Of everything I’m given, that’s one thing I know I have no control over.”

Gladio looked back to Loqi, an opportunity suddenly arising in his mind. “I’ll leave you alone then… on a single condition.”

“What?”

“You start learning how to turn a blind eye.”

“Wh—What does that mean?” Loqi pressed, eyes wide and expression confused.

Gladio ringed his arm through the straps of his shield, picking it up off the stairs. “Have a good morning, _sir_ ,” he ended with, as he turned and descended back down the stairs. Loqi would get it when the time came, and if he didn’t… well. They’d have to deal with it.

 

———

 

“But I could purify the area—”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s hardly a laborous task. It would simply take an hour or so.”

“No.”

“Iedolas, imagine how favorably the Insomnians will look upon you if you allow this.” The quick statement gave the emperor pause that morning, and he looked over to Lunafreya curiously. She sat in that bed—pristine as it was, his beds always were dirty to her—at five in the morning, looking over reports on her phone. Unlike the prince, unbeknownst to her, she wasn’t forced into a technology and media blackout in her life, so the minute she learned of the subway attack, she shook Aldercapt awake to speak with him. “You’ve already shown how merciful you are by keeping their prince alive and safe within these walls—” A prisoner, but the public didn’t understand. “—and now you’ve brought me. If you extend a kind favor by allowing me to purify the area, and to heal any who might have been infected, especially on the eve before their returned holiday, they’ll be most grateful to you.” And it would give her a reason to leave his bed before he built up his morning energy to take her body as his own again, as was routine.

She just hoped his futile desire to prove he wasn’t infertile wouldn’t override what was truthfully a solid plan in positive public relations.

Never would she have ever dreamed she would have to weaponize her being the Oracle to escape her husband.

But, of course, she had been betrothed to Noctis. It was done during the trip during which King Regis had visited with Noctis, as a long-scope plan to bring Tenebrae into the full protection of Lucis. No one had an idea that, in two days, the Empire would sweep in. The attack on Tenebrae had been as sudden as the attack on Lucis, and with that attack, the betrothal had been shattered.

No, she wasn’t in love with an eight year old boy at that time. Of course not. It was fully political, but she genuinely enjoyed the prince. For as childish as he was, he was also somehow wise beyond his years without ever realizing it, much like she. That, and the Kings of Lucis had always been kind to their respective Oracles. Male or female, the Kings respected and treasured the Oracle, also male or female, and so she knew it would be a good marriage. It had even received then 14-year-old Ravus’s approval. Well beyond, even. “How I wish your hand had gone to Noctis,” he whispered in a hug when he visited her several months.

Iedolas watched her, tired but considering. After a moment, he rolled over, putting his back to her. “Perhaps tomorrow,” he decided. “If they continue to have troubles keeping them in check.”

Luna closed her eyes as she slowly hugged her tablet to her chest. “I understand,” she whispered. No, she didn’t. Did he truly have no interest in his public image there? Normally so far away from Insomnia, she had no idea how his rule there was. He came to her, not the other way around. “May I go get something to eat, Iedolas?” she asked, voice quiet in case he’d already gone back to sleep. He wouldn’t get mad, so long as she didn’t actually wake him.

“You’re free to go where you please, unless the guards stop you,” was his hazy response.

“Thank you.”

She found out that the freedom she was too hollow to even hope to appreciate was disappointingly small. Guards routed her directly to the elevator, and one stayed with her for her ride to the first floor. Such was the tale when she arrived on there, as well. They were all kind and, as all who truly understood her life, determined to keep their eyes on the floor. A collective disappointment in the situation that befell the young former princess of Tenebrae.

She didn’t want pity. She wanted help escaping. Unfortunately, her powers were no good against the likes of mortal men and the beasts they tamed, and never did they bring Magitek around her. They learned very early on what she could do to those daemonic machines. She had never seen an old man look terrified before, until that day when she was thirteen, and the first time the emperor attempted to claim her. Verstael Besithia was the one to attempt collecting her with his tin soldiers. Already channeling the power of the Oracle, he lost well over fifty units.

Never again did they expose her to those sins against the Gods.

Eventually, she found her way to the Citadel’s massive kitchen. So early in the morning, there were only a couple of cooks manning the stations for the third shift of soldiers leaving, and the first shift that arrived early. They seemed surprised at her arrival and, outside of explaining where everything was for her, left her be to do as she pleased.

She meandered over to a pantry, opening it and stepping inside to look over the gratuitous stock that she knew was exclusive to the Citadel. It was sad. King Regis and her mother had so much in common that she could never imagine them having something that wasn’t available to those outside their palaces if the people were suffering. And suffering, the Lucians were. The Insomnians just didn’t realize it. Ten years and enough mindgames from the Empire could convince a general population of a lot. She wondered what the Lucians beyond the city thought.

When a door across the massive kitchen opened, it did so loudly and yet deafly, the sound traveling through the empty space, bouncing across and yet quiet at its core, and she thought nothing of it.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Mind if I borrow the facilities yet again?” _That_ caught her attention. That accent was one of Tenebrae. She straightened and turned, not sure if she should step out or stay put.

“Of course, Mr. Scientia. We received a fresh delivery of everything about an hour ago.”

Scientia?

Everything else that was said following that was unheard by the Oracle, and she was left standing there, staring out the pantry’s open door. Could it be? Was that Ignis Scientia? Noctis had written about him in the past, quite fondly. His longest running friend and his steward was important to him, and it saddened her when his writings went for gleeful recounting of how he drove the older boy mad for fun, to just simple recountings of the day and how they spent their time together, even though he refused to speak.

So caught up in wondering and not even trying to look out and around to him, Luna was caught off guard when the new face rounded the door with the intentions of walking into the pantry. He was… startled, to say the least, as he jumped back and went to bow low in dire respect to her.

“Please don’t,” she whispered, reaching out for him with a shaking hand. “Are… Are you Ignis?” she asked softly.

“I am,” Ignis replied, just as quiet and slowly straightening.

Luna was afraid to speak, going so far as to cover her mouth with both hands. If she spoke, she would ask to see Noctis. That was something that just wasn’t feasible.

That mindset was exactly where Ignis was going, too.

Luna looked like a ghost of a woman. Like someone who had seen too much in too short of a lifespan, and would be forever changed. Hers wasn’t a fate fit for anyone, let alone the Oracle.

So, even though it felt as though he had made a grave mistake—a feeling reflected within her eyes—he asked, soft and through breath alone, “Would you like me to take you to him?”

The way her eyes glassed up in pain and relief mutually was heartbreaking. It just wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all. She was so broken, wasn’t she? But even as he could see her body tense in terror, she nodded her head frantically behind her hands. That was all he needed. “Stay here for a moment, until I return.”

She nodded again, although he just barely saw it as he turned and started back for the two cooks working in silence in the larger area of the kitchen.

Although his education ended abruptly at age twelve, that was still enough time for him to get enough lessons in for… certain duties that fell on the heir’s steward. It was a lesson King Regis wanted Ignis to master before Noctis became a teenager, as there was no telling what sort of teenager he would have become.

Gladio had charisma, and Ignis had… well…

“Gentlemen, I’d like to make a request,” he said, gaining their wary attentions rather quickly. Wary, but curious, which was good for the quick response it provided. “I think it would be awful for everyone to learn of the unconventional ingredients used for the emperor and his council, wouldn’t it?”

The way he said that, along with his meeting their eyes with his own spoke volumes that they caught onto immediately. “It would,” one agreed, turning back to his preparations with wide eyes. The other nodded, and turned back as well. They were men as angry as any Lucian that had to work close to those Niflheim fools and, while Ignis doubted they would have said anything anyway, just making the situation clear was the best policy.

He soon returned to Luna to sweep her out and for the entrance he used, which was a servants’ passage, old and dated. Modern monarchs from as far back as Noctis’s great grandmother were reported to not have required ‘the help’ to stay out of sight as much as possible, but the passages were still quite nice to use for discreet movement.

Their age was obvious in the stone construction of the floor. The Citadel proper was a modern and ever-growing construct, but was once a castle of what was said to be truly remarkable design. Hints of Solheim lingered in the oldest walls, although the Lucians had no known connection to the people of the old mega empire. The thought was that discovered ruins within the Crown City’s walls were repurposed because of their beauty and durability. Ignis had no idea if it was true, either, but it would seem as much.

Another antiquated piece of the old passages would be the lifts. In place of the technology-driven elevators stood platforms with ropes and cranks. When he opened the railing gate for Luna to board, she looked a little dubious. “My understanding is he’s high up in the building,” she whispered to Ignis, still so afraid to speak any louder. Ignis had given her the history lesson he had, so wouldn’t it make even less sense to traverse with the use of such a thing? He empathized.

“Yes, he’s on the same floor as Aldercapt,” Ignis replied, soft spoken there, but louder than she. The way her face fell told him she didn’t realize she was so close. “King Regis was fond of the idea of expanding these for use as escape paths. If not for the speed and relentlessness, as well as the time during which the empire attacked, many more might have escaped from capture and execution.”

“I see.”

With that, she stepped on, followed by Ignis. He latched the gate and went to a pulley system that worked on a crank, and began to spin it with both hands to start lifting them. It took so long to get up to the right floor, but he never relented in his motions.

It had to hurt, Luna imagined. Easier down than up, too. She was so concerned, by the time he dragged the brake into place and went for the gate, that she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. A soft, golden-white light emanated from her hand and radiated through his body, to rub away aches and even possible muscle tears that would harm more than build his body.

Once her cooling magic finished its work, he looked to her, then bowed his head. “My thanks.”

And then they were off. The passages there were oddly formed, separated by rooms they had to skitter through quickly to get to the next, the walls between hollow for places to store things… or to hide people. It was frightening to think that there hadn’t even been enough time to throw Noctis and Regis into one of those spaces. Luna didn’t want to think about what Noctis, or Ignis, or Gladiolus had been subjected to that day, or since then.

Finally, Ignis gestured a finger to his lips, breathing out, “This is it. One moment.”

With careful, silent motions, he leaned against the sliding wall, of which each room had one on each side, usually hidden by a bookshelf or something between it and the door in, she learned as they darted through rooms, to each space. After he checked by sight, he placed his ear against the small peephole. Then, he opened the door into a closet. Luna trailed behind him as he slipped through to the door out, to check further. It was the only one of the rooms they passed where one of the doors led, not directly into the room, but into the room’s closet. Likely because it was Noctis’s room? She wondered where the doors were in Aldercapt’s room.

In the darkness that was broken only by a dim night light within the closet and by the door, Luna looked at what was there while she waited. On one side, boxes with various ages were written. ‘Age 10’, ‘Age 11-12’ and so on. One had to assume they were the old clothes and shoes of Noctis’s that he no longer fit in. On the other side, his clothes were hung neatly, with his shoes arranged in perfect, color-coded order. One suit in particular was hanging on a single hook from the rest. It gave her a good idea as to Noctis’s size. If the clothes were right, he was about Ignis’s width at the shoulder, but shorter than he; no doubt, he was taller than she was at that point.

“He doesn’t speak,” Ignis warned Luna as he cleared the beyond and opened the closet all the way so they could step out. “He’s not uttered a word for eight years. Not even much a sound.”

“I can’t say I blame him,” Luna replied softly. She wished she had that liberty at times. But was it a liberty? She imagined that it would turn into hell after a while, being so hurt and angry one wouldn’t even so much as hum.

Noctis was asleep when she emerged. His position spoke to how little he worried about the hidden rooms, and how much he worried about the door to his bedroom, because he was asleep sideways in the bed, instead of proper from headboard to foot rest, and was asleep on his side, so he was facing the door.

Luna had become acutely aware of sleeping positions with the birth of her children, back when she was still convinced she loved them as a mother should have. Daimona always had a habit of finding her brother, and wrapping around him protectively, while he hugged himself tightly. It was a baffling thing at first, as they did that even as infants, when they shared a crib together. Then, she realized it was that Daimona felt obligated to protect and shield her little brother. It would have been charming, had they been the children of her and Noctis, or her and… anyone else, other than Emperor Aldercapt.

As she watched on, Ignis went around to gently wake Noctis. “Noct,” he said quietly. “There’s not much time before we must part, but…” He nodded in Luna’s direction.

Noctis slowly looked over in bleary confusion. It took rubbing his eyes and blinking them furiously, but when he finally focused on Luna, she could see him stop breathing for a moment’s time. She felt as though she had done the same.

He was… handsome. So alone, so depressed, but so handsome. What a tragedy that befell the young man that was supposed to save the world from the very darkness the Empire harnessed and weaponized.

Slowly, he sat up, reaching out to her, and she strode forward to take that offered hand. She wanted to feel him. Was he warm? Hot? Cold?

Just as the pads of her fingers touched his, a brusque knock came to his bedroom door. Their eyes widened, and Ignis was quickly wrapping an arm around Luna’s waist and hauling her back into the closet.

Noctis’s stomach sank as his head did, right to his pillow. It was as it always had been: Luna, forever out of reach.

As his friend and the girl he wished he could save disappeared from sight and the room, his door swung open to a man named Burkhardt. Something Burkhardt. He was the Captain of the Citadel guard, and someone Noctis didn’t see much of those days. He honestly thought him dead. All the better. He was a sick man.

“Where is it?” he demanded as he stormed for Noctis’s bedside.

Noctis, pretending to just have awakened, sat up to look at him in bleary confusion. That confusion turned into a wince when the captain grabbed him by the hair and pulled him roughly from the bed. “Where is your phone?” the captain demanded. “The one the chancellor gave you.”

Craning around in that vicelike grip, Noctis pointed to the nightstand, where the brand new smartphone was charging. The captain turned him around and threw him out across the room, Noctis tripping over himself and slamming into the polished marble floor. He proceeded to Noctis’s phone, waking it up thanks to no security on it—one of Ardyn’s requirements—so he could start looking through it.

Noctis pursed his lips together while the bastard did that, so he wouldn’t make a sound as he slowly rolled to his hands and knees, and then went to stand. That fall was going to leave some serious bruises, he could feel.

“Sir?” a guard asked from the door.

“There’s nothing in here,” he said, throwing the phone to the bed. “Not so much as a call.” He went over to Noctis, grabbing him by the neck and lower jaw, his massive hand wrapping around him tight. “If you hear anything about the whereabouts of Lady Lunafreya, you report it immediately,” he growled. Noctis tried to pull away, only for Burkhardt’s other hand to slap down on the back of his head, and he dragged the prince in close, so that he could put his mouth up to his ear. “If you don’t, it’ll be just like back when you were small.”

He turned and threw Noctis towards the bed, before brooding out of the room. While the prince slammed into the trunk before his foot board, he heard Burkhardt tell those outside to keep the doors open and not risk someone climbing through his window or something. What an idiot. Noctis grasped the wooden column jutting from the corner of his bed to stabilize himself, and slowly got to his feet. It took some time before he could walk with any sort of stability to get to his closet, because there was no way he was going to be able to get back to sleep.

He was torn about what he hoped to find beyond. He wanted to see Luna, but he didn’t want her or Ignis to have seen what happened to him. Or even heard it. It didn’t matter, the admissions he silently made to Ignis. That was different from it actually being seen.

Fate had resolved to spare them the sight, it seemed, but for him to not be able to see Luna again. He frowned as he stared at the solid-appearing wall. He didn’t know what would have been better, and what would have been worse. Both options were awful.

Then again… No, that was better. That meant they realized Luna was deviating from her authorized areas. Ignis would get her back to safety, though. He would.

God, he hoped he would.

———

Later that day, that suit set out in Noctis’s closet was brought into use for a meeting of the emperor, his council, and the chancellor. Every few days, Noctis was required to attend, not unlike days before, when he was dutifully beaten afterward for the emperor’s amusement.

No such thing happened that day. He was grateful, though. The bruises from the morning had gotten worse than he even imagined, and it took everything he had to pretend they weren’t there and aching through every part of him. He didn’t even detect the normal… vibes that came before such storms. It was hard to explain it, but it came in the tones and glances from the usual suspects around the room that told him pain was incoming.

He suspected that Ardyn Izunia had something to do with it, seated next to him and smug as always. What the hell kind of sway did the man have that eight years of orders were twisted around and changed at his whim? The books, the phones, the increased liberties. Was the return of the Festival of Etro part of it, too?

Noctis was so caught up in wondering about that, he didn’t really hear anything that was being discussed around him until he heard, “There’s one last thing: The matter of Iris Amicitia,” from Ardyn himself. That brought Noctis’s attention right on in to the discussion at hand.

“Ah yes. The last of the Lucian nobles,” Aldercapt said, resting back a bit more in his seat. “What of her?”

“I have two on my list that I have deemed the most appropriate to debate between,” Ardyn said. “One being Commodore Loqi Tummelt. The other being our dear Prince Noctis.”

As if the day couldn’t go worse.

Iris was, in effect, like a little sister. Noctis didn’t see anyone like that, outside of Luna. Even if he was speaking to any of them, he would’ve been rendered speechless by his name coming up. Not because he thought Gladio would hold it against him. Gladio knew that, of anyone, Noctis was the most enslaved to the wills of the emperor and his people. He just… no. He didn’t want anything like that, especially not with Iris.

“That second suggestion surprises me, Chancellor,” Aldercapt admitted. “Why him?”

“The time will come that the people will begin to ask why our handsome Lucian pet hasn’t settled down with a lovely lady,” Ardyn replied flippantly. “Because you’ve insisted on this silly masquerade, it’s very likely that the idea that you never intended for him to be more than a toy to you and yours will rest on uneasy shoulders. To avoid loyalist riots, we ought to consider it. There are none left to match him with, unless you’d like him to wed your _daughter_.”

Noctis felt sick at the mere challenge from Ardyn, even if he stayed stoic as always.

“Or we could pawn him off to a noble man and allow him to do with him as he will. Tell the people that he prefers men,” Ardyn continued. “But still, the time will come that they’ll ask where the surrogate mother will be, to birth a child carrying the Lucii’s DNA.”

“Amusing thoughts, all of them,” Aldercapt remarked. “To be honest, I’d prefer her with the commodore.”

Noctis was praying that they had preplanned that discussion, just to screw with his head.

“Perhaps we should use the upcoming holiday to make a choice,” Ardyn suggested. “You’ve already decided that days are for your blushing child bride, and while the nights are for our Prince in Distress, so why not utilize the galas at night to gauge the interactions of the girl between both young men?”

“Splendid idea,” Aldercapt said.

In that moment, Noctis realized there was something very abnormal about Ardyn’s realm of influence. Other men had been sentenced to death for even insinuating calling Luna the emperor’s ‘child bride’. The fact that Ardyn not only said it flat out, but Aldercapt didn’t even pause indignantly at it. What was going _on_?

“We can decide within the first couple of days, I’m sure,” Aldercapt went on.

“Most _certainly_ ,” Ardyn agreed. He then looked to Noctis and smiled at him. There was something that was sickening about the way he looked right then. “Do run along, my boy. It’s alright. No one will touch you.”

While those words felt sincere, they also felt sinister, but Noctis wasn’t about to stay there and figure out which side was more genuine. He pushed out of his seat and started out of the meeting hall, stripping off his suit’s blazer as he went.

Something was wrong. He was sure if he expressed it to Ignis somehow, Ignis would tell him that it was just the fact that they were unaccustomed to someone actually providing them more than the bare minimum and protecting them from harm, that it colored Noctis and made him distrusting. No, he’d have to figure it out for himself.

Fortunately for him, the Festival of Etro’s nighttime affairs almost always involved drinking. Drinking meant loose tongues. Loose tongues meant that he might be able to figure something out; to overhear someone saying something that gave him an idea of exactly who Ardyn Izunia was and what his his angle was with the situation there in Insomnia.

“Hey, Noct!” a cheerful male voice piped into his ears, unfamiliar and disarming. It made him realize he was walking with his eyes fixated on the ground, and he snapped his eyes up ahead of him to try to find the speaker.

There was no one in the hallway but a somber, blond young man walking in his direction. From the dead eyes, and the sniper rifle on his back, it couldn’t have possibly been him. The teenager—no older, and no younger really, than he—passed him by without affording him even a single glance.

Was he losing his mind? Or was the fact that the holiday celebrating their patron Astral causing the voices of the dead to become audible, as it was said the holiday was supposed to do through the mere fact that it was celebrated in Her honor?

…Noctis was inclined to believe it was the former, honestly.

Etro had long been absent, even if the people didn’t want to believe it. They had no patron god. Not any longer. If they had, they wouldn’t have been left in the hell that was under the boot of the Empire of Niflheim. Noctis refused to believe otherwise. There was no _reason_ to believe otherwise, not any longer.


	16. 3 - 2 Days Until

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it's like the show Seinfeld: There are a lot of words, and nothing happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, well, those words contain hints and clues and such.
> 
> I swear, this is a case of 'it will be sooooooo important later'.

The first day of the Festival of Etro was about looking back into the past. A dangerous thing, given the situation in the world that day, but that was why they repositioned the meaning of it, no doubt. Instead of decreeing it a ‘day about the past’, it was a ‘day about tradition’. Still a potentially dangerous thing, but far less so than reflecting on past events.

The day itself was about preparations, with the night meant to be spent with family and friends, co-workers and schoolmates, sharing and learning, and having a lot to drink and eat.

Ignis had a plan since the festivities were announced and, with the increasing inches given to his leash by Ardyn, he was able to put it to work with the little crew he’d put together for Noctis. Noctis needed a tailor and a makeup artist for the first few days, and the last, a costumer to add to it. While they were hired for him as well—Gladiolus would have his own—Noctis was the most important one to dress to the occasion.

In honor of Etro, facial coverings of increasing design marked the progression of the seven day holiday. That day, a simple band of black was drawn across the face, temple to temple, just wide enough to cover the eyes. The makeup artist went a little further and hinted to how that would evolve as the days went on, adding small golden flourishes in the black that would only be visible when up close, or when in a bright light. It was clever, subtle, and Ignis hoped the circle of protection Ardyn was slowly encasing Noctis in would protect him as the true nature of that evolution became evident.

In honor of tradition, Noctis’s suit was one that was a modern uptick of a design from his grandfather: A high collared coat that would remain zipped up, although the zipper ended at the waist and allowed the coat to flare over black pants that ended above his boots. Although they were cinched in there, they were loose and easy to move in, matching the spacious cutoffs of the coat’s sleeves. It was said that his grandfather was quite the martial artist in his youth, and wore such things to make it easier to get around.

To add to the presence, Noctis’s hair was managed by the makeup artist as well, gelled back and up in a tussled mess that was styled and fashionable. Although, somewhere between there and the gala itself, Noctis had at his hair, and pulled his bangs and the locks that framed his face back down as some sort of protection. Normally, Ignis would have been indignant at the ruining of any part of his plan, but it actually looked fairly impressive, once he stopped seeing red.

Iris and Gladio were both in attendance when they arrived at the gala. For once, they had no mandate on when they had to show up, Ignis and Noctis, so long as they showed up no later than dinner, which was held at ten before midnight, to herald the transition of one day to another, as dying heralded life to death, and the spirit passing through to Etro’s gate.

The four met briefly. Gladio had apparently brought Iris into the fold of their operation. It wasn’t Gladio’s choice, he reassured Ignis. “She figured out something was up,” he whispered.

“You were talking to yourself again, weren’t you?” Ignis sighed.

“…no comment.” Gladio straightened out the armored cloak he wore, honoring his father directly; something he received approval for ahead of time. “Either way, she’s not happy about any of what Noct reported, either. She’s gonna keep an ear out.”

Noctis had been kind enough to finally break his rule about writing for Ignis and Gladio, too. Apparently, the threat of being forced to marry Iris was enough to shake that form of silence. Gladio had been outraged, and had to spend several minutes assuring Noctis it wasn’t his fault. The decision was made to try to figure out what Ardyn was to those people, and to go from there. While Gladio and Noctis didn’t seem to get why Ignis wanted to go that route, Ignis knew exactly why he wanted it:

Figure out who Ardyn Izunia was, and one could find the perfect way to destroy him.

Noctis trailed off to Aldercapt after the initial greeting, being required to stand with him until dismissed. That was the one time Noctis wouldn’t complain. Aldercapt didn’t drink, but his court did, and the hope was they would get so drunk, they wouldn’t realize it was Noctis beside them.

That covered the highest nobles in the room. Gladio dispersed for the military commanders and nobles. Ignis was continuously in awe over how Gladio had appeared to have assimilated so well with them. He could laugh and joke, flirt and more with any of them, and look so convincing, when Ignis knew he would have gladly beheaded every last one of them if he could.

Iris decided to go for the younger members in the hall, to see if her equally charismatic—albeit being the youngest in the room—self could swoon details out of them.

That left Ignis with the nobles that wouldn’t always be with Aldercapt, but would occasionally go to speak with him. It didn’t mean they were lesser, but—well. It _did_ mean they were lesser. Not by much, as they were still members of the court, but they were by just enough to be bitter.

And so, the operation started.

—

“It’s amazing how hot some of those Wilds girls are,” said a young captain, one Josef Hardt, a glass of wine in his hand as he stood next to his immediate commanding officer.

That CO was Brigadier General Caligo Ulldor, who was happy to show his true colors as he said, “Too bad they’re all dumber than rocks,” over the rim of his own glass.

It was said that when Aldercapt made the decision to marry Lunafreya, it was Caligo who went to retrieve her personally, dragging her, by any means necessary, to the emperor’s side. That made it more satisfying to know that _his_ commanding officer those days was Ravus Nox Fleuret.

“I think your tastes are just spoiled with city ladies, sir,” Gladio said, his tone far more amused than he actually was. “Those girls out there might not be city smart, but they’re a hell of a lot more fun.”

“You sound like a man with experience.”

“I might’ve had a run-in with one or ten,” Gladio replied. “All you need is a little charisma, and they’ll show you a fun time to beat anything city girls might have to offer.”

“No doubt practiced into perfection with their brothers and fathers,” Caligo snorted.

Gladio laughed with the others around them. Not because he thought that was funny, but because to not do so would be out of character for him.

“To be fair, Amicitia, you don’t exactly struggle in charming the pants off the ladies,” Josef remarked. “Hell, I think you could charm the pants off quite a few men, too.”

“Who says I haven’t?” Gladio challenged, prompting a burst of surprised laughter from Josef. “Either way, it’s good that ladies don’t seem to need ‘refined’ charm to get what you want out of them. I’d be pretty SOL if I needed, say, Chancellor Izunia’s level.”

Caligo snorted at that. “Charming as a snake,” he said distastefully.

“Well, that’s said like someone who knows him well, sir,” Gladio said, appearing amused and stifling as much of his curiosity as possible. It was a good natured conversation, not an interview.

“Far be it from me to speak of our _illustrious_ chancellor in a way not befitting his station,” the general replied, taking another hefty drink of his wine. “I will say it does seem the council is awfully smitten with him, however.”

“And the emperor,” Josef said behind his own drink.

“I’ve heard,” Gladio sympathized. “Can’t say I’d disagree with anyone who suspected him even a little. Was he publicly voted in?”

“Of course not,” Caligo snorted. “We’re not Accordo any more than Lucis was.”

“So, how does one just happen to become chancellor? That’s what I don’t get.” Gladio looked so impressively convincing in how casual he was acting, and how baffled he was. The latter, anyway, was nothing but true.

“Connections, boy,” Caligo scoffed at him. Gladio couldn’t tell if he was scoffing because of his ignorance, or because he still considered the younger man lesser because he was Lucian. While he did all he could to appear to have assimilated, there were still some who held that part against him. Which was fine. They were disgusting Niffs, after all. “Get to knowing the right people, and you can become anything in the Empire.”

“Crazy to think that just anyone could take a seat like that because they become bosom buddies with the right people at the right times,” Gladio said with a snort of his own.

“Indeed,” Caligo said, his voice managing to drop into a bitter sneer.

—

Ignis lucked out.

There were two council members that had hit the bottle well before they arrived there. Frederick and Michaela Govarston, a married couple approaching their forties. They were in charge of the power grids across all that the Empire encompassed, including the four major states—Niflheim, Tenebrae, Accordo and Lucis—and all surrounding areas. Ignis readily admitted that they took their jobs seriously. Great strides had been made to connect all the plants from the various locations together, providing an intercontinental grid that supported all if any of the connected power plants went down.

However, there was something else that always bothered him about them. He could never put his finger on it, until that night when Michaela approached him, shambling along with her husband not too far behind her. When she moved in to Ignis, she grabbed him by his lower jaw and gave him a shake.

“What a pretty face this is,” she cooed. He could smell the liquor on her breath.

“You wanna—You wanna take him home with us?” Frederick asked with a slurred cackle.

“We can’t afford to break this one,” she scolded in what sounded like an attempt to whisper, which failed miserably.

Her stating ‘this one’ was the piece that caused Ignis to realize what it was that had been bothering him.

King Regis’s court had been so much larger than the one the emperor had, and many of them had children of many ages at the time of the takeover. The only ones who remained were he, Gladio and Iris. Ignis had heard that the Govarstons had been awarded a few of the older boys that weren’t chosen by others to take on as partners. Over the last eight years, three of four of those young men were found did in various, tragic ways that the coroner’s report listed as accidents, even though the details appeared to implicate something else.

Ignis knew that it was, perhaps, his preexisting impressions of them because of that, but her words seemed to solidify all his worries he had when he snuck a chance to read what those reports had to say. Male Lucian children didn’t mean nearly as much as female ones, evidently.

Needless to say, he was safe from them trying to drag him off, but they were already drunk enough that he could talk to them. As it was, he’d helped them to a large seat against one of the walls of the massive dining hall, and stayed standing next to them after bringing them more to drink. He was just about to ask about Ardyn, trying to figure out a nice, crafty way to do so, when Michaela opened a door to a different subject when her phone chimed and she blearily checked the incoming message.

She groaned after doing so and just dropped the phone. She meant to hit the couch itself, but the phone hit the stone floor. “They’ve had a failure in the new conduits coming into the Citadel,” she slurred, not noticing her phone in favor of flopping back.

“They better fix it before tomorrow,” Frederick said without moving while his wife’s shoulder hit his.

Ignis went around to retrieve her phone, quick so he could hopefully see the screen before it locked. Although the screen had cracked, he could read it well enough.

_[Lady Govarston: Critical conduit failure in Zone 2, Throne Room. Estimated time of repair: Seven hours. Diverting power from Lestallum directly to assist process.]_

He set the phone beside her as he stood up, asking, “So, you’ve a project with the power grid here?” as casually as possible.

“We’ve been routing a lot of power here lately,” Michaela explained, flopping her hands around in demonstration. “Lots of power. Have to power… it.”

“It?” Ignis pressed, as innocently as he could sound.

“It’s _dumb_ ,” Frederick said. “The influx is temporary. It’s all about the out…flux. Outflux?” Michaela giggled at that. “But nooo, the chancellor wants to make sure the _influx_ is right, first. Doesn’t make any sense.”

“Out with the old, in with the new~” Michaela chanted.

“That’s not what that means, honey.”

That was interesting. So, the chancellor ordered some sort of redo on the power grid there in the Citadel? Something that was meant to contain output, but he wanted input first? Ignis wasn’t too sure, watching the drunk duo, about what that could mean, but he hoped that he could either get more out of them, or the others would learn pieces that might help it all make sense.

—

Outside of Iris, the youngest person in attendance was Katta Avarius. At twenty years of age then, she was one of the unfortunate Lucian noble girls to be married off when she was fourteen. Six years later, and it seemed that her husband had done well by her, and she had embraced the Empire over Lucis. There was no difference between her and the older wives and husbands in that area, all married to council members, but not members themselves. Some were children of Lucian nobles, well-assimilated like Katta, and others were Niffs themselves.

They started talking to Iris, upon her arrival, about her getting married. It was clear they didn’t know of the plans being discussed with regards to her, because they were trying to guess who she would be best suited with.

“Frankly, I think the High Commander could use a wife,” Katta told her as she swayed with the looseness granted by one too many glasses of wine.

“He’s so much older than I am,” Iris objected, but with a light laugh. While she sincerely meant that objection, just as her brother was doing, she didn’t let on to that fact. She didn’t even have to, simply for the same reasons Loqi was so nice to her. She was the next best thing to being born under the hand of the Empire due to her age. Even though the veil over her eyes was being pulled away, no one needed to know that, and she acted normal with less disdain than her brother and friends.

“Oh, not by that much,” Katta insisted. “There’s twenty-seven years between myself and my husband, and look at our dear emperor and his wife. There’s over forty years between them!”

‘ _And you find nothing wrong about that?_ ’ Iris wanted to ask. She didn’t though. Until just a few days ago, she didn’t see the wrong in it. For a thirteen year old, that was a gap of age she just couldn’t comprehend existing between a husband and wife. Five years seemed like too much.

Instead, she laughed a bit and shrugged. “Well, either way, I don’t think he’s exactly looking for a wife. Although… I’ve been wondering. Is Chancellor Izunia married?”

Katta thought about that for a bit. “I don’t think so, no,” she answered hesitantly. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason. It just seems like it’s really important for the government of the Empire to be married and have families, and we don’t know much about him here,” Iris said, humming before speaking. “It left me thinking.”

“It is pretty important, as most roles are passed down outside of military positions,” a young man, a Niff Iris only knew as Stefan, said as he walked up to them. He appeared to be about Katta’s age, though it was hard to tell for sure. They both seemed to be twenty, with about a decade worth of life tacked on extra. “The only reason they’re not is if the emperor decides it to not happen.”

“So, the chancellor is the son of the previous?” Iris asked, surprised.

“Well… no,” Stefan replied, squinting an eye shut. “There hasn’t been a chancellor in several decades. Chancellor Izunia really sort of came out of nowhere. I can confirm he’s not married, or apparently looking, either.”

“Does he go for the, you know, other team?” Iris asked a bit awkwardly. While being gay wasn’t a crime, she was still a bit too young and never knew anyone of that persuasion, so she didn’t want to say something wrong.

“Maybe, but he wouldn’t have to be covert or something,” Stefan replied with a snort. He leaned in to Iris then and whispered, “Rumor has it that he’s a bit obsessed over Prince Noctis. You’re pretty close to him, aren’t you?”

“He’s not gay,” Iris quickly answered.

“Doesn’t exactly matter if a guy like that wants him,” Katta scoffed. “And if he was gay and a woman chancellor wanted him, it wouldn’t matter if he was, either.”

“I’m not asking for that reason,” Stefan interrupted, staring between the two girls. “I just meant that if you are, you should’ve seen or heard something about it. I mean, I’ve never seen the prince in person before tonight, and I’ve heard all about how he’s been getting liberties for the prince and his advisor.”

“Well, yes, that’s all true…” Iris was processing all of what Katta and Stefan were giving her. So, Ardyn showed up and then the position of chancellor was resurrected and handed to him? “Where from Niflheim does he come from?” she asked. “Or is he from Tenebrae or Accordo?”

“I don’t know,” Stefan replied, while Katta shrugged in agreement to that answer. “All I know is ‘Izunia’ is absolutely not a surname from Niflheim or Tenebrae.”

“I thought the same thing,” Katta said to Stefan, eyes wide. “I thought Accordo. Specifically Altissia.”

“Sounds more Lucian, specifically Insomnian. To me, anyway,” he retorted. And then they both looked at young Iris for her input.

She lifted her eyebrows, then laughed out and shrugged. “Last names aren’t my forte! I mean, I thought Izunia was totally a last name from Niflheim or something.”

So, he came out of nowhere, and got a position brought out of retirement for forever just for him, _and_ he wasn’t even a Niff? What in the hell were the boys finding out about the guy in the meantime?

—

Noctis couldn’t see the others. He knew about where in the massive gala hall they were, but he couldn’t see any of them. He couldn’t go looking, either. He had to stay in his place by Aldercapt’s side, seated next to the ornate chair that was to resemble the throne. The throne that belonged to Noctis, but would never be his.

“Your steward did an impeccable job with such short notice,” Aldercapt said at one point as he looked Noctis over.

The prince didn’t reply, simply folding his hands in his lap and staring straight ahead. A second later, he was hoping that visibility was poor for them as well, when the emperor grabbed him by his lower jaw and forced him to turn his head.

“You should be happy that this is happening. It wouldn’t be, if not for your newfound advocate, Chancellor Izunia,” the old man growled to him, staring him in the eyes.

Noctis did nothing but stare back at him. How the _hell_ could he be grateful? Even for those few seconds that he saw Luna for the previous day, whatever was left of his heart had shattered. He could see how worn down she was from her life. Her eyes told him everything he needed. Her soul was broken, and it was that monster’s fault.

The emperor released him by shoving him back by the jaw, and Noctis simply looked out ahead of himself again, not reacting to the pain radiating from where Aldercapt was gripping him. While his strength waned with age, it was still painfully strong when he felt so inspired, and Noctis knew it was going to leave him swollen, if not bruised, in those spots.

As the night dragged on, members of the highest ranks of the council would come by and speak with Aldercapt about stupid things that had no relevance to anything. Some would then comment on Noctis as if he was some sort of custom-made setpiece, complimenting Aldercapt for reigning him in so well.

“For a Lucis Caelum, he’s awfully well-behaved,” they would say. “You should be proud!” Every time, Aldercapt acted as if it was the funniest thing he’d heard to date.

In fact, nothing ever came up regarding Ardyn. Not anything positive, and nothing negative. It was an absence of the subject all together, and it left him even more baffled. What, did people not speak of Ardyn unless he was in the room? Did that mean the others wouldn’t be able to find out anything?

An air of dread washed over him about four hours in, when he spotted Captain Burkhardt moving through the crowds of people, Loqi Tummelt trailing hesitantly behind him. If any god was listening, he was praying that the vile older man wouldn’t want anything to do with him. Because of his importance to Citadel security, Aldercapt allowed him to get away with as much as a commodore like Loqi, despite technically being under in rank.

“Your Majesty,” Burkhardt greeted, bowing to Aldercapt in time with Loqi once he was in proximity. “The grid’s been finished in the throne room.”

“Is the chancellor aware?” Aldercapt asked without skipping a beat.

“I’ve sent a couple of my men to raise him and notify him personally.”

“Excellent.” And then, Aldercapt gestured to Noctis without giving him so much as a side glance. “Reward?”

That _son of a bitch_.

“With your Majesty’s blessing, most gladly,” Burkhardt said with a sharp chuckle.

There was a flinch that briefly crossed over Loqi’s face that Noctis just narrowly noticed before he was playing it off by rubbing at his nose.

“With all due respect, Emperor,” Loqi said, bowing again to him, “but I don’t think it’d be wise to remove the only connection to Etro left during a gala to Her.”

Was Loqi… making an excuse for him? Worried as he was, Noctis was then confused as hell. What the fuck was going on anymore? He used to be quite content to allow the things he didn’t need to worry about to go on without him knowing. He’d never been a busybody, even as a kid, but he was feeling like he had one hell of a blindspot that he could do nothing about.

“I’ve never known you to be the superstitious sort, Commodore Tummelt,” Aldercapt responded, bemused. “What brings this on?”

“With the upcoming plans coming into effect soon, I believe the last thing we need is to upset Etro of all Astrals, that’s all.”

What _plans_?

“Etro hasn’t been around since the Astral war. The Lucians have been praising a ghost all these centuries,” Burkhardt scoffed. “If our annexation of this country didn’t stir her, nothing will.”

“I agree. Take him.” The emperor waved at Noctis to stand. “Just don’t cripple him.”

Although the prince obeyed with an expressionless face, his heart was racing. Did Ardyn lift his hand of protection? Did it have a time limit? Or were they acting that way because he wasn’t in attendance?

As Noctis passed by Loqi, they briefly met with their gazes.

Loqi had tried. He’d overheard the others that night, and the sorts of questions they were asking. They were trying to find things out that he found he was trying to figure out quite suddenly, too. Namely, who was Chancellor Ardyn Izunia and what was his angle?

“Have you given Chancellor Izunia’s suggestion any thought, commodore?” the emperor asked after Noctis was some distance away.

Loqi looked back to Aldercapt, and bowed to him. “I’m afraid not, your Majesty. I’ve been too busy with my duties as of late.”

“You get along well with her, do you not?”

Choosing his words carefully, Loqi replied, “She’s a child of our great empire in her allegiance. Of course I do.”

“ _That’s_ how you view her?”

“I do.”

“I see.”

That was the last that the emperor spoke or even looked at Loqi, causing the commodore to bow and take his leave in silence. To meander about in the background, observing and not interacting. Observing Gladiolus, Ignis and Iris as they seemed to ask an array of questions and discuss guided topics that coincided with one another, from a distance and unnoticed.

If that was why Gladio wanted him to ‘learn to turn a blind eye’, then that was one case wherein he could do so easily.

———

“No luck, have you?”

“No.” Gladio lowered his phone and looked across to Ignis. “The ones answering back saw him get on the elevator with that fucking captain, and the others answering from other floors never saw them get off there.”

Following the festivities, and helping a few drunk council members find their ways to guest rooms and the like, Gladio, Ignis and Iris had convened in Noctis’s bedroom in the hopes that he would be there. It was five in the morning, and Iris was more than a little tired, but she was appearing to fight the good fight to stay awake.

“I bloody hate this,” Ignis grumbled as he sat heavily on the opposite side of Noctis’s bed from where Iris was seated.

“So do I,” Gladio agreed grimly. “How long has shit like this happened to him?”

“Does it really matter?” Iris asked quietly, staring at her hands. “We were all stupid about it.”

“You can’t blame yourself for this one,” Ignis assured.

“There have been… _so_ many times in the past that I’ve told him to stop being a brat to the guards and council members that’ve come to get him when I’ve visited,” Iris argued with a frown. “I thought he was being dramatic and difficult for no reason.” She just didn’t understand that she had no basis for the anger that the older boys felt over the years, and how that alone would have been enough for Noctis to act the way he did. “And now…”

“And now, let’s talk about what we’ve learnt,” Ignis decided. “Whilst we wait for his return.”

Gladio was on board with that, to both distract Iris and to pass time, as they didn’t have to say it out loud to know they had no intentions of leaving before Noctis was returned. “Alright, I’ll go first.”

Ignis took notes as they each recounted the things they learned. It was clear there were commonalities in what they heard, to the point that, once he was done taking those notes and then organizing the points each of them had to say, that he felt there was little room for doubting any of it.

“So, the position of chancellor wasn’t being used for several decades. Ardyn Izunia, who is believed to be Altissian or Lucian, appears out of nowhere and very suddenly is placed in the position by the emperor. He’s overwhelmingly charming, and gets away with saying things that lesser men have been killed for even accidentally insinuating. We also know there’s a power grid expansion that, according to the Govarstons, is managing. Also according to them, it’s routing directly into the Citadel, although we don’t know why, but that Ardyn surely is involved with this in some capacity. We know that he’s carrying authority to protect Noct. We also know he’s not married, nor does he seem interested in such things that we know of, despite his age and the Niffs’ penchant for marrying as soon as possible, or to as fine a partner as they are rewarded.”

“And that he’s got the authority to suggest Iris get married to a Niff _or_ Noct.”

“That as well.”

“And we know that the rumors are saying that he’s definitely obsessed with Noct,” Iris pointed out quietly.

“And likely that’s why I’ve been granted the movement I have,” Ignis acknowledged.

“Does any of this help, though, really?” Iris asked, looking between her brother and Ignis doubtfully.

“No, but we also don’t have Noct’s input,” Gladio said. “So… all we can do is wait and hope they bring him back soon.” As he spoke, he went to sit on the trunk at the foot of Noctis’s bed, unaware that the young man was slamming into it almost 24 hours ago at that point.

“What if they don’t?” Iris scooched down the bed, over the footboard, and went to lean against Gladio’s arm.

“They’ll get tired of him at some point,” Gladio said with a sigh. It sucked, not being able to protect him and also keep everything he worked so hard for. The waiting game was awful when one’s prince was in trouble.

“What if he’s hurt when he gets back…?” she asked, her voice growing smaller.

“Then we tend to him and care for him,” Ignis replied somberly. “In this sort of circumstance, one might view the people as a collective of victims but, in this case, the children the old rulers left behind are those who hurt the most, it seems.”

It was a sad, sobering thought that he and Gladio had tried to ignore far too many times over the years. At Noctis’s detriment, it seemed. They shouldn’t have allowed him to push them away. Maybe…

“We’ll stay here,” Gladio promised over his shoulder to Ignis. “You’re not doing this alone. None of us should be any longer.” They allowed the Empire to break them down. Even if it took them years to get there, they would get strong again and put an end to it, he swore.

No more.


	17. 2 - 1 Days Until

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all have had a great holiday season, and start to your new year!
> 
> This didn't end up exactly what I wanted, but I finally managed to finish SOMETHING for it, and it actually ended up more plot relevant than what I originally intended, so... go team!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Discussed/evidenced drugging. Graphic violence. Mentions of past trauma regarding graphic violence. PTSD-like behaviors.

It was just after one in the afternoon when Noctis was finally returned to his room, to an entourage containing Ignis, Gladiolus and Iris, along with the crew Ignis had hired to prepare him for the day.

Unceremoniously, the doors of the room opened, and guards stepped to the side to allow the dead-eyed Prompto to enter, pushing a wheelchair that held one very unconscious prince, still wearing the clothes from the prior night, and his band of makeup long since running down his face in a spiral of black and gold.

Prompto said nothing as he stopped in the middle of the room and left Noctis right there, turning to leave again. Ignis watched in silence, despite his heart beating so hard it was rendering him deaf, and caught sight of Loqi standing out in the hall, arms folded over his chest.

As Prompto passed him by, he called in with a, “He’ll be expected at the night’s festivities no later than at midnight dinner.” With that, the guards pulled the doors shut, leaving the group alone.

“Fuck that guy,” Gladio grumbled, sweeping in to prepare to catch Noctis. To keep him in the chair, they strapped him in, and Ignis had already fled to the chair and started unbinding him. Noctis slid free, and Gladio caught him easily.

“To the bed. We need to check for injury,” Ignis ordered.

It was something that became a group effort, Ignis wanting the keen eyes of the women in the room. Not because they were women, but because their jobs required keen eyes. Noctis’s privacy just had to take a backseat.

“I heard the prince sleeps like a rock, but this is ridiculous,” mumbled the tailor at one point as she scanned over a bare arm for anything relating to puncture marks, or deep tissue injury.

“It’s one of the hints that we have that, on some level, his connection to the Crystal remains intact. Although this is clearly whatever they’ve done, the rumors are certainly true,” Ignis said. No they weren’t. Well, they were, but Noctis wasn’t allowed to sleep deep. Whatever nightmares he’d been through, both known and unknown to Ignis, kept him on his toes, even in slumber. The deepest he slept was when Gladio or Ignis stayed the night, a certain level of protection surely felt by having what amounted to the only family he had left with him.

“Here we are,” the makeup artist said, lifting Noctis’s hand and turning the tips of his fingers to Ignis.

“They were injecting him under his nails?” he asked, much to the horror of Gladio and Iris.

“It’s one of the best places to make sure there’s no evidence,” she explained. “The skin heals incredibly fast there. The only thing is, it can lead to easy infections if it’s not cleaned well.” As she said that, she sat on the bed and went to opening a large pouch belted to her, in which she had alcohol wipes and swabs for cleaning the skin of her customers. “Human hands can be disgusting.”

“Thank you,” Gladio said to them both, nodding to Noctis. He took to sitting by the boy’s head, leaning back on the headboard. “I’m sure you never imagined this.”

“I might have some smelling salts down in my car,” the tailor said as she thought about it. “Should I go to see?”

As if the mere words ‘smelling salts’ were potent on their own, Noctis started to shift weakly, his eyes rolling actively behind his eyelids. That was good, because Ignis didn’t want them going out of that room without Gladio, just for what they had seen there. No one could possibly know if they would be ‘dealt’ with for being aware of that situation.

“Noct?” Gladio asked, frowning. He leaned forward to pat Noctis’s cheek. “Yo, Noct! Can you hear us?”

Noctis’s lips moved as he tried to force his eyes opened, but it looked like a losing battle to do so. Like his eyes had weights on them, which was a good sign of being drugged as well. Despite that, though, after fighting his mouth a while longer, and flapping his hands around on whoever he could whenever the makeup artist lost her concentration.

“Get—her out—” The words were whispered, a shadow of what was likely his true voice, though how could one tell? The shock of hearing him speak words was so much that it actually made Iris gasp and Ignis sagged down some in disbelief.

“Who, the tailor and—” Ignis started, resting a hand delicately on Noctis’s chest. Even though they found no evidence of trauma in the usual areas during their inspection, he still was gentle and cautious. Not even the shellshock brought about hearing Noctis whisper out words would make him forget to do that.

“ _Iris_.” Noctis winced and slapped his hands over his face. “G-Gladio—out of the city—get her—out—L-Luna, too, if—” he rambled, his words sounding slurred and strained. Likely a byproduct of not using his mouth for words for so long, and through such formative years, Ignis thought. “Before…”

Just like that, Noctis faded again, his arms crossing over his face as they went limp. It left the five in the room gaping at him, and one another. What in the hell?

“He just spoke,” Gladio said, stunned, staring at Noctis’s covered face.

Iris nodded, eyes wide. “But what does it _mean_? Why me? Before what?” she asked quietly, glancing briefly at the two women, who shook their heads and frowned.

After watching the prince mournfully as he listened to the others speak, Ignis finally cleared his throat and looked to Gladio and Iris. “We can discuss this after tonight. I need to stay with Noct at the gala, so…”

“Iris won’t be attending,” Gladio said quickly.

“Gladdy!” Iris objected.

“She’s going to spend the night with friends from school.” He looked at Iris in a pressing way that had her frowning, but nodding ultimately as she realized whatever it was he was doing. “So I’ll be sticking with you and Noct.”

Ignis was honestly relieved to hear that Gladio would. It would be much easier to keep Noctis safe with Gladio there to help. He just sincerely hoped Noctis speaking wasn’t a one-off symptom of the drugs in his system. That he had something of value to say, and would say it again. For all his curiosity as to what Noctis’s voice sounded like after puberty, it was sad to think that they’d have to still wait, since a whisper was hardly indicative of what an actual voice sounded like.

Waiting was the worst thing of all, even for Ignis.

———

The second day of the Festival of Etro was dedicated to honoring those of the present day. Those still alive, walking together on the path to Her gate.

Gone were the traditional clothes of old, and in were modern threads, no less fancy. The band painted temple to temple, over the eyes, was expanded in different ways, to cover the forehead, most the nose, and one’s cheeks. For some, that meant delicately bleeding out the color of the band—for most Insomnians, it was black—in various ways, for different effects. For someone like a prince, it meant expanding the subtle gold patterns along with the black, to start forming some sort of decoration that had some level of meaning.

In fact, it seemed like a lot of the people native to Lucis, to Insomnia, had taken to utilizing their family crests, or the crests of their friends if theirs didn’t have one. It might have been coincidence, but it almost felt like some sort of subtle protest. As if to remind the Empire that they knew who they were. In fact, some had even decided to bear the Crest of the Lucii, which wasn’t forbidden. For a common citizen, it would have been the same as wearing a shirt with the Lucian flag on it, as a show of pride. If not for the fact that the emperor was using Noctis as a placating element, one might have needed to be worried.

Maybe worry was still warranted.

In the gala’s hall, people danced and socialized, drank and ate at midnight as was going to be the tradition over the course of the whole festival. The prince remained beside the emperor at all times, his two friends standing with him at all times, one or both, never without either. He appeared even less interactive than normal, likely still hazy from the drugs injected into him much earlier in the day.

Prompto supposed the word for it should have been ‘sad’. It was ‘sad’ to see the prince in such a condition, and it was ‘sad’ to watch his friends and keepers so paranoid about anyone who came near him. They had every right to be paranoid, however. A lot of things were rolling down the pike at their younger friend. Things that very few people had a complete vision of. Even him, the one that things were said around without much concern for him betraying the confidentiality mandated for such knowledge.

As the clock moved closer to one in the morning, his gaze trailed from the young Lucians, across the hall to Aranea Highwind, who was standing near the large windows to the west, drinking from a champagne flute and watching the people as they mingled and danced.

12:58:01 A.M.: She raised three fingers from around the flute and casually waved her fingers, before stilling them straight out from her. Prompto’s gaze looked through for a man with bright red hair and fair skin, a Niff councilman Prompto had been watching through the night. He had been pretending to drink, pretending to be drunk, but he was quite lucid and starting to migrate in the direction of the emperor as he sat next to Noctis.

1:01:57 A.M.: Aranea’s hand, once again in his sight, waved forward, toward the man that was then standing before Aldercapt and getting closer.

1:02:05 A.M.: Weight the wind, weight the distance, weight the obstacle of the glass… Prompto lined his crosshairs up with the rifle he’d been watching the entire affair with in his clutches, right on that councilman as he reached into his robe to grab something.

1:02:06: Prompto squeezed the trigger, with little to no care what the results would be, aside from whether or not he hit his target.

He didn’t care, but he knew it would connect. He was trained to never fail.

———

The sound of glass erupting was followed by the head of one Travis Hejletan, Niflheim Council Member, exploding into nonrecognition, right in front of the emperor, and right in front of Noctis.

Noctis’s eyes went wide, but before he could react, Gladio was grabbing him from his seat and pulling him back, Ignis right beside him. Attendees of the party all scattered, as soldiers rushed to encircle the emperor. Both he and Noctis had gotten blood, tissue and bone on them, although Noctis more than he. In a symbolic gesture, Noctis was to sit on Aldercapt’s left that night, instead of his right, as if to remind him that he wasn’t good enough for the position of a ‘righthand man’.

Noctis hadn’t cared before, but as he stared at the blood coating his body, he sure as hell cared then. He just allowed Gladio to drag him until they were out of sight of the windows, behind a partition set up around a small table-and-chair setup for private conversations within the gala. Noctis looked over to the pool of blood that fell like a rushing waterfall from the man’s head, only half intact. It never got easier to see that.

Noctis had known for a long time the effects of a fatal head wound, even before the Empire struck. He’d seen it the night his convoy was attacked, when he was just eight. He watched as men pulled guns, and that snake of a daemon whipped her tail into some of them. Gunfire scattered throughout the air, and one bullet struck a man just outside the car he was still seated in. His nanny tried to mask him from seeing it, but it happened faster than she was.

The bullet must have ricocheted off the ground, because it entered him from under the chin. The resulting damage took his head clean off, and blood cascaded from his nose, his mouth, his ears. The thick liquid began its escape before he even hit the ground. In an instant, life left him, and in an instant, he no longer looked real. It was the first time Noctis realized there wasn’t much to fear from dead bodies. Etro being their patron did little to dissuade the natural unease at the idea of seeing the dead, but experiencing it firsthand… that was enough.

It amazed him, honestly, that it took him so long to realize. After all, his relationship with death had simply started when he was eight. When the Empire struck, he was forced to sit at the emperor’s feet as each person within the Citadel’s grounds that was fourteen or older was brought in and murdered in front of him. Perhaps he was just too stunned from everything to even realize that the minute life left, the minute the soul left, that the body ceased looking like the person he knew. Was it because half of a person’s appearance was their soul? Their mind? Their personality, experience and lack thereof?

The body of Hejletan did, in fact, look like a shell abandoned. The man had never been particularly harsh to Noctis or Ignis. In fact, he’d actually been the closest thing to ‘kind’ that a member of the Empire could have been to them, so seeing him then was a bit… sad to Noctis. There were good people in the Empire, but they were overshadowed by the wicked, and so their good actions meant little to nothing.

Even though his one eye remained, the high caliber shot taking off half his head, it seemed, its wide gaze in his direction did nothing to Noctis as his would-be Shield and would-be tactician covered him in that small area. He was a bit sad, but he wasn’t scared. He didn’t feel as though there was still life in that eye, in that face.

It would take a long time for Noctis to come to realize that his reliving how he learned how dead bodies looked, recounting the numerous violent deaths in his life, and staring at the fallen man counted as a type of PTSD. He was caught in a loop of thoughts and memories that, although harrowing, had overridden the world around him.

“He’s not hearing us,” Gladio said, rather desperately as he shook Noctis.

“It’s alright, Gladio,” Ignis said, fighting to speak calmly for the sake of them all. He busied himself with cleaning blood off of Noctis’s face. “He’s been through much today.” And likely traumatized to a further degree they could only merely empathize with… or understand, really. Noctis hadn’t even spoken a word again since that morning, and even seemed to be clueless when they told him what had happened, and asked him for a meaning behind his words. Gladio might have been frustrated, but Ignis was as empathetic as he could be.

He turned his eyes to the chaos unfolding at the throne. Delia Karvad, councilwoman who saw over the affairs of Lucis and its medical needs, had swept in as soldiers formed a shield, and others began to barricade the window, to study what happened. Karvad wasn’t a bad woman; he hadn’t heard whispers of a scandal, or of even poor behavior towards Lucians coming from her. The fact that the health of the people as a whole was strong spoke to the fact that she seemed to honor the tradition of a doctor knowing no enemy, only patients.

“I don’t believe this was a misfire,” she said after some time spent looking over the body, and a time during which anyone who had taken to hiding remained in their spots.

“How the hell can you be certain?” Although they couldn’t see her, that was clearly the voice of Aranea.

“If it was poor targeting, that was a hell of a coincidence.” Delia stood straight and looked to Aldercapt, who didn’t move from his throne, seemingly content to allow his men to be gunned down if the gunman continued firing. “I’ll need time to run a proper autopsy with my team, your Majesty, but you should probably dispatch a team to the direction this came from.”

“It’s already done.” That was Loqi, also unseen. He’d been avoiding approaching the emperor all night, likely due to Gladio’s account of the conversation he had with the younger man. “Though it’s very likely the gunman will be long gone.”

“Still, there might be evidence,” Delia insisted.

“It’ll be handled,” Aldercapt assured. He finally stood on aged legs and began his way for the doors. “It would seem that tonight’s affair has concluded,” he called to all who had hidden as opposed to fled. “However, if you would like to remain, you’re welcome to. As for me, I think it best that I retire.”

“To Lady Lunafreya,” Gladio grumbled.

“Gladio.” His friend looked to Ignis when he whispered his name. “I’ll return Noct to his room. Will you remain here and attempt to get information regarding what was said earlier?”

“What do you mean? ‘Oh, hey, any reason the prince would want us to run away?’ That’ll go over well,” Gladio replied with a frown.

“Not that, obviously. But perhaps whispers of a suspected emergency. Perhaps Noct overhead something that had him that concerned.”

Gladio sighed at that and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Also, if she seems up to talking, ask her about Prompto Argentum.”

Gladio scrunched his nose at that. “You’re kidding. _Why_?”

“I haven’t seen him at all this evening. You’ve seen that sniper rifle on his back.”

That insinuation was very clear to Gladio. “You think he did this?”

“Not without someone ordering him,” Ignis clarified, finally standing and assisting Noctis to stand as well, on no small part from the help of Gladio. “A sniper gunning for him would have torn through those human shields no problem, just to reach him.”

“…and the councilwoman did suggest it was a deliberate shot for some reason,” Gladio added thoughtfully. He nodded after a pause to just think about all of that. “Alright, you got it. I might not get anything, but…”

“I know you’ll do your best, Gladiolus.”

After crossing the way with the two, and then separating from them, Gladio took a deep breath and started for Aranea, who had taken to slamming down a flute of champagne at the liquor cart that had been abandoned. “Well, Happy Two,” he remarked as he folded his arms and turned to look at the cleanup that was occurring over by the throne.

“That what you say for this thing?” she asked, gesturing to her own makeup, featuring the same black band as most everyone, with her personal crest starting to take shape in the color of the blood red she normally wore for a uniform.

“Nah, it’s generally unspoken, actually,” he advised, earning a faint smirk from her. “You Niffs just tend to be more literal.”

“Racist,” she mused.

For Aranea, she was being rather welcoming and warm to his presence. She was a tough woman, who managed to make even the black gown she wore, with its red shawl, look like battle armor. It could be hard to get through to her on any given day, and one had to just take their chances and hope she wasn’t in the mood to completely ignore everyone.

“This is so not going to go over well with the general staff,” he sighed.

“How do you mean?”

“I’ve been told that some of them have been having a ‘bad feeling’ as of late,” Gladio outright lied, watching Aranea start on a second flute. “Like they’re anticipating some major disaster incoming. I told them I’d try to figure out something about it, if only to shut them up when there’s inevitably nothing predicted. This blows the chances of _that_ happening.”

“Honestly, he was set for arrest and execution as of tomorrow, anyway,” Aranea stated casually, yet quietly.

“What? Really?”

“Apparently, he was found to have seditious materials in his real home, not the suite here in the Citadel,” she explained, snorting. “Loqi was to execute the order of arrest tomorrow morning.”

Gladio snorted as well. That was awfully convenient. What was a stronger message? Arresting and arranging an execution, or the idea that one could be executed at any moment in front of everyone, including one’s family? Because that was what he was getting out of what she was saying. She was suspecting it was exactly that.

That didn’t satisfy the other concerns that he had, but it did well enough. Gladio had to play his cards right. If he pressed too hard, or seemed to press in a strange direction, for specific answers to specific questions, he could have been asking for real trouble. Aranea had no problem doing favors for him, but trying to find out things about Iris was a far cry from learning things about what happened to Noctis and why he said the things he did.

Especially if they were doing planned assassinations of traitors that were ‘children of Niflheim’.

That was a complication in itself.

He wondered what the ‘seditious materials’ were, though. “I wonder what sort of things he could’ve had that would be worth taking out a vital appendage of the council,” he said idly.

“No idea, kiddo,” Aranea replied, cool as always. “Stuff like that doesn’t involve us.” She glanced at him, away from the people working on the body and cleanup still. “Why? You worried?”

“Always,” he answered, honest enough. It was a delicate balance he had to maintain, and that was something Aranea knew for sure.

“Don’t worry so much,” she replied to that. She reached over to pat Gladio’s shoulder. “You’ve done nothing to raise eyebrows. He did. Just keep it that way.”

It was a subtle warning to make sure to keep his head down, and he supposed he appreciated it. He nodded slowly and said, “I think I’m gonna head home.”

After saying his farewells, he did deviate long enough in his mission to head home to meet with Ignis in the parking garage. Noctis was fast asleep, back under house arrest until the next evening. The conversation was short, but best done there instead of anywhere where someone might lean in to hear them. He never thought they would ever be so paranoid when compared to Noctis, but there they were.

After passing on the rather cryptic list of details from his conversation, Gladio parted ways with Ignis, who was going to be clearly mulling over everything Gladio had to say for some time.

On up to the first level of the parking garage that was nested under the Citadel, Gladio’s SUV was actually his father’s from back when. One of the sadder losses to the everyday lifestyle that Insomnians enjoyed once was that car production and evolution had slowed to a crawl with the rest of the daemon-inundated world. The cars produced that final year were the best it got. The factories were converted to strictly military-grade products. Why the Empire still needed _more_ arms was beyond him. Either way, at least he still had his father’s car. That accounted for something.

When he finally pulled into the Amicitia home, it was nearly four in the morning. His motions were really rather robotic as he got out of the SUV and headed into the house, always lit on the first floor to prevent any daemons from spawning within or on the property. He honestly expected Iris to be asleep, even if it was on the couch in the front room, so he entered quietly. He didn’t suspect she would feel up to staying with her friends she ultimately wanted to go see after her hesitant departure from the Citadel.

Much to his surprise, he heard the TV running, although it was on the Empire-mandated news channel that was programmed to kill any other station that broadcast during any reports, or coverage, that the Empire demanded everyone to see. It was very dictatorial. The old systems had an override on phones, computers and televisions for emergencies, but not for anything King Regis decided people needed drilled in their heads. Gladio knew that was what one did when one wanted total and complete control and influence over a population. It was awful.

He approached the room to tell Iris to get to bed, or shake her awake and send her off, but that became the furthest thing in his mind when he saw her sitting there with a man he didn’t at all recognize.

“The hell is this?” he demanded strongly, absolutely ready to break everything in that room. Iris’s back was to him, so he couldn’t gauge the situation through her at all, and it had him powerwalking in the direction of the man seated in one of the armchairs quickly.

The blond man threw his hands up, and Iris leapt up and into Gladio’s path to stop him, shouting, “Gladdy! Hang on a minute!”

“What the hell, Iris,” he snapped at her. There was obviously no problem with her, so why the hell would she let a strange man into their house?

“Good t’know that ferocity the Amicitias are known for _isn’t_ just in the girl, eh?” the man asked with an accent Gladio couldn’t nail down.

“You better start talking,” Gladio snapped at him, the only thing keeping him from actually advancing being Iris pushing on his arms to keep him back.

“Gladdy, calm down,” she begged. He lowered his eyes to her, but looked no less angry; he would gladly kill a stranger for even talking to his sister in their home. _Especially_ with everything that had been going on relating to her lately. “He’s here for _you_.”

“Me.”

“Yeah, you,” the man said, finally standing up. He reached behind the lapel of his coat, and Gladio grabbed Iris to throw her behind him, causing the man to pause and look up at him. “Calm down, will ya?” He produced an envelope then, and held it out for Gladio to take.

Gladio reached forward and snatched the letter without taking his eyes off the man. “Who are you?” he demanded.

The man tutted at that. “You must make a excellent soldier with that one track mind’a yours,” he huffed. “Name’s Dino Ghiranze. I’m—”

“A reporter,” Gladio finished darkly. “Likes to peddle empirical bullshit.”

“Well, who would’a thought that the big guy reads, huh?” Dino asked Iris, leaning to the side to see her behind Gladio. She paused in how she was scowling to giggle a little. “That’ll come in handy. Read th’ letter, kid.”

Gladio snorted and looked behind to Iris. “Go on upstairs,” he said, speaking much more gently than before. When she hesitated, he added, “I’ll be up when I’m done.”

“Even if you have to wake me up, right?” Iris pressed, clearly not willing to accept any other terms.

“Yeah, even if I have to wake you up,” he agreed. He reached back to poke her in the shoulder as a way to nudge her along.

Iris started away, but not before waving to Dino, and then taking off at a run. While she disappeared upstairs, Gladio started examining the envelope.

“It ain’t poison or a bomb, kid.” Dino went to sit again, hooking his foot over his knee as he rested back in the chair.

“Who the hell knows anymore?” Gladio retorted sourly as he finally tore it open.

“Point.”

Gladio pulled a letter resting, and started to read over its contents. As he reached the end, to the signature, his face fell into a wide-eyed expression of pure shock.

“…are you serious?” he asked, looking up at Dino.

“Sure am, kid,” Dino replied. “Think you can make it happen?”

“I… don’t know.” Gladio’s eyes looked back at the letter he held, his surprise nearly blinding him from actually reading what was written there. “I…”

“It’s an open offer,” the reporter said, going to stand. He started for the front door, activating his lapel’s flashlight. “No time limit, though I’d say acting prompt and safe is better than too slow or too hastily, ya know what I mean?”

“Yeah. I’ll… start working on it later today, but I… don’t know,” the younger man advised, watching Dino leave.

“Prompt and safe,” Dino reiterated, by that point standing in the open doorway. “Nothin’ more, nothin’ less, capiche?”

Gladio nodded, still shell-shocked to a degree he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. “Got it. Slow and steady wins the day and all that.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dino chuckled. He started to take his leave, but paused to say, “By the way: I don’t like havin’ to ‘peddle empirical bullshit’. But like you, we all had to make concessions to stay alive.”

After watching the door close behind Dino, Gladio looked back to the letter. The contents, the signature, it all looked legitimate…

Ignis and Noctis were going to flip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "BUT WHAT DOES IT SAY?" I hear.
> 
> "I'll tell you almost right away in the next chapter," I promise.


	18. The Day Of...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: So, I’m retconning some minor ‘in the past’ details here. I got some better ideas of what happened when the takeover started. These details were so tiny and insignificant previously that I’d be surprised if they actually are remembered by the time they reach here.
> 
> Tbh I forgot I mentioned contrary details until almost a thousand words in LMAO. But guess what? WE’RE GETTING ACTUAL PLOT MOVEMENT TODAY, Y’ALL.
> 
> Side note: Descriptions of places that do not match canon are accurate for this AU!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: If you’ve read up to this point, then the flashbacks contained within being described as ‘graphic’; Luna and Aldercapt interact, so there might be some uncomfortable insinuations that, again, if you’ve been reading all along will be no surprise; major character death (also graphic). (Also will not be a surprise if you've already ready the Hurt Noct Week version, although this has been changed a lot for the expanded details of the concept after it was requested to be expanded upon by PeekaBloodyboo!)

** 8 YEARS AGO **

“No, no, that’s not right.”

“That’s how Iggy taught me.”

“Oh. Well, then, it _must_ be right.”

Noctis looked up and squinted his eyes at his father suspiciously. His noble father, seated on his throne, in his suit, doing the most kingly of things and forcing his son to sew a button onto his shirt. Regis stared back at the ten year old.

“You’re messing with me,” the prince informed.

“I’m not. I had no idea Ignis taught you to do it that way, and was simply going off my knowledge of it,” the king argued.

“And when’s the last time you sewed a button back on _your_ clothes, huh?”

Regis reached over and pushed against Noctis’s head with a single finger, making him bob to the side. “Don’t you sass your father,” he directed in an amused tone.

“I’ll take that to mean ‘a really long time’,” Noctis scoffed as he righted himself. “Button sewing technology has probably super advanced since you last did it,” he went on, busying himself with his task.

Regis chuckled at that. “Yes, perhaps.”

The peaceful moment between father and son was interrupted not a second later with Clarus Amicitia bursting into the throne room. “Your Majesty! We have a breach!”

“What do you mean?” Regis asked, shooting to his feet.

“I mean—”

Clarus was cut off when a rumbling, powerful explosion hit their ears, and with it, the entirety of the Citadel lurched and groaned in pain. Another struck, that time high enough to hit below the windows to Regis’s right, causing the ancient glass panes to shatter inward. Regis threw up a shield around him and Noctis as he dove down to grab the stunned, wide-eyed boy.

“Evacuate the city!” he ordered to Clarus.

“It’s too late! We have to lock down!”

Regis paused at that, turning to look out the shattered windows.

It was a tale that had happened time and again: great walls stood against his Wall, protecting all under it from the daemons and humans meaning them harm. Through the years, the Empire would find a way to breach the walls, and then weaken the Wall itself, making Regis have to abandon that area. The Wall was for the people, not for the _Empire_.

No one had imagined the Empire would end up breaching the walls of Insomnia itself. While Cor and Clarus had prepared a new generation of soldiers to handle such an affair—many choosing to stay outside the city the last time Regis had to shrink the Wall—they weren’t ready yet.

No one should have known they weren’t ready.

“Lock down!” Regis shouted. “Get the glaives active in the city! Evacuate those who can be, and push those who can’t towards the Citadel!”

“Regis—”

“ _I know we won’t fit them all, but try!_ ”

———

** PRESENT DAY **

His father had tried so hard to protect and spare as many people as possible.

Being more astute in curing magic at that time—inspired by Luna to train hard in that at that age—Noctis did what he could to help heal the wounded, but that came crashing down when they realized they weren’t fighting men that time, but a robot army. A Magitek Infantry utilizing weaponized daemons. His father was so strong, and the fight he waged lasted for hours, but then a man in liquid armor, who Noctis in the present day knew was the commander of the Kingsglaive gone traitor, Titus Drautos, arrived and no matter how hard his father hit him, how fast his weapons crashed down and his magic collided into him, the man was too much after Regis had already fought for hours. In the fight, Cor arrived to try to help, but an explosion between the man in armor and the king blasted Cor right out the shattered windows, leaving him to plummet to the earth.

When Regis died, the Crystal routed through Noctis, but he was too young and incapable of funneling the power needed. Whatever, and whomever depended on that magic to work at optimal condition failed.

Then, an order from ‘Supreme Commander Glauca’ went out to to take all persons older than thirteen alive.

One by one, the adults and teenagers who were fourteen and older, were brought in to the throne room. By that time, Emperor Aldercapt had arrived, and a helpless Prince Noctis—covered in his father’s blood as he desperately tried to heal him even though he was long dead—was stood by his side.

One by one, Noctis watched the execution of each and every one.

His life started with death, his mother passing in childbirth. His lift continued with death, and he knew that was why his friends never begged him to speak after the initial first weeks of the takeover. Noctis had seen more than any child should have, and each and every death was treated as a personal attack on him. Maybe, just maybe, if he had been a good boy and died, or at least stayed rendered just as good as dead within his coma, they wouldn’t have had to take Insomnia. They wouldn’t have had to kill everyone, and sell their children off to the wolves.

Noctis was about fourteen when he learned what came of the staff’s children. Children who weren’t nobility, but had access to greater education and generally better medical care and upbringing. While no one suffered in Insomnia before, no one could be sure if someone was a refugee on sight, and that was a very different matter. However, the jobs within the Citadel were all those of an inherited nature.

The oldest female children were given a choice: They could serve as a sort of… on-call brothel for the nobles, or they could be sent to Niflheim for a fate unknown. So many were taught to stay with the Lucii that they accepted the offer of the brothel, in exchange for getting to stay there. They didn’t really understand what they were agreeing to, until it was too late. Noctis never saw them, but Gladio said they… handled the position well. As well as one could expect of them.

The oldest male children were sent away without a choice.

The younger children, of both, were either groomed to serve or groom to _serve_.

Noctis vowed that if he ever got into a position to fight, he would. For the dead. For them. For everyone abused and killed by the Empire.

Even if that was a hope long dead, the vow was still there.

That morning was the day of best friends and closest family. There were no grand parties, but simply grand dinners for those closest to one another. The day was, of course, mutated because of the Empire, but still. That was what it was originally for.

Noctis was already done up with his face spiraled out with the crest of his family painted in gold, and a suit of black and gold to match, when Gladio arrived. Ignis and Gladio both were adorned appropriately, though Gladio was hastily dressed, carrying his blazer on an arm instead of wearing it.

“Has he been speaking?” Gladio asked first thing as he closed the door and went to dragging a nightstand over in front of it.

“No,” Ignis replied. “Nor is he writing. He’s simply responding with nods and shakes of his head.”

“Well, at least he’s listening.” Gladio crossed the room, holding up the envelope. “A man was in my house talking to Iris this morning when I got home. Dino Ghiranze.”

“The reporter? Why?” Ignis asked. He wouldn’t have known that even weeks ago, but he had made certain to read absolutely everything he could since receiving his phone and all those books from Ardyn.

“He was told to deliver this to me.” Gladio held the envelope out to Ignis. Noctis frowned and turned to scale across the bed, and lean in behind Ignis to see what was inside. Ignis was merciful in how quick he pulled and unfolded the paper.

—

_Gladiolus,_

_Escape now. Get the prince, and whomever else you can bring in one car._

_Outside the city, follow the main road._

_You’ll come across a small town called Hammerhead._

_Go to the garage. One of the King’s former retainers is there._

_Tell him who you all are, and ask for me._

_He and his will help you._

_It’s time to step up as Shield, son,_

_\- Cor_

—

“…I daresay that does look like the Marshal’s signage of his first name,” Ignis said. “It’s been a long time, but…”

“You also have a great memory, Iggy,” Gladio commented.

“If this is indeed Cor, and not a forgery, he must take great stock in the reporter’s trustworthiness.”

“Yeah. Iris seemed to like him, too. For whatever that’s worth.”

“She’s a solid head on her shoulders for strangers. You can’t judge that based on those she’s known for more than half her life. They’ve had time to embed themselves into her life as beacons of attention.”

“Right.” Gladio sighed and shrugged as he folded his arms. “Well, what do you recommend?”

“I recommend that we try to bide our time through today,” Ignis suggested quietly, Noctis nodding in agreement. “As much as I don’t wish to recommend this part, I believe it’s the most sound: Should we get an opening, we may have to leave Lady Lunafreya, and others, such as the glaives. He was specific about one car which, honestly, makes sense. We can do far more with one car than a caravan of them.” He paused for a moment, then added, “We should also resume this discussion at a better time.” And a better place, namely the room in the garage.

“Right.” Gladio looked at Noctis. “Nothing to say anymore?”

Noctis shook his head. Given his complete shutdown after his uttered words that morning, Gladio wasn’t surprised.

“Let me know,” Ignis said as Gladio just nodded and started for the door.

“Will do. Take care of our boy,” Gladio said as his farewell.

———

“You act like a princess in a tower.”

“Forgive me, but I am, to be fair.”

The quiet, but quick, response that left Lunafreya’s lips before she could stop herself made her cringe in her mind. She had been in a haze since that morning she was able to lay eyes on Noctis, and not just because of the punishment dealt for taking so long to be found and returned to Aldercapt’s room. The bruising that stemmed from temple to jawline spoke of that. Her healing light didn’t work on herself, so even attempting to heal the bruising was futile. Besides, she wanted it visible. She wanted others to see it.

Aldercapt didn’t, and kept her locked in his bedroom ever since. The only ones to see her were makeup artists who were brought in to decorate her in a way befitting for the holiday. She didn’t understand why. She wasn’t allowed to participate in the prior days’ celebrations. Was it something he wanted to try as some sick little erotic trick?

The emperor moved around in front of Luna, where she sat, being worked on by the two women. “Perhaps you should’ve minded your time,” he advised.

“I’m not a child.” She felt so hollow. Her body felt raw. He hadn’t touched her since that morning, but she still felt as though he’d poured acid into her body. It was disgusting, and felt even worse since seeing Noctis. Seeing him made her imagine the life she might have had one day, and at least gave her something to dream of when the emperor was attempting to impregnate her throughout the day.

“You’re my _wife_ ,” he snapped in return. “And thus, you _obey_.”

Luna didn’t respond. She simply stared into nothingness, into the space beyond Aldercapt, unmoving, not blinking.

“Either way, after tonight, it won’t matter. You’ll have free run of the entire Citadel,” he continued.

What did that mean?

“And after these ladies are done dressing you up in the local tribal warpaint, you and I, along with Daimona and Spectro, and Ravus—should he be able to make it—will be going on a royal convoy about the city so the people can see the Oracle. You can heal a few of the people, and allow Spectro to learn from example.”

That information washed over a sense of relief, touching Luna through to her soul. There was little she enjoyed more than spending time with the people and helping them. It was something she was deprived of, if it wasn’t a controlled, highly arranged affair. The guards back home would delicately explain that it wasn’t for any reason other than she was the bride of the emperor, and therefore there was always a risk of her being assassinated. Although they were imperial soldiers, they were all such kind men. She wondered what they would have done, had they known Aldercapt had grown violent with her, since they were forced to stay back in Gralea during her absence.

“Spectro will enjoy that immensely,” she said. “He’s been wanting to learn how an Oracle exercises their duty.”

“Have you not been teaching him?”

“Of course I have, but he’s a _child_ , Iedolas,” she insisted. “Just as Daimona must learn how to be an empress by watching you, Spectro must learn to be an Oracle through watching me. He’ll never be a proper Oracle should he not learn. I struggled, since I missed time with learning from my mother. Had it not been for the Messengers…”

“The Messengers will teach him if necessary, then, too,” Aldercapt said haughtily.

That was the first time Luna focused her eyes on him. Yet, somehow, they remained hollow. “No, they won’t.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, a little taken aback.

“The Messengers are as judgmental as the Astrals,” she advised. “They’ll not entertain the children of an Oracle when they have blood of god slayers mixed in. They made that very clear from the beginning: I am the last generation to whom they will visit of the Oracle line, ‘lest my brother bears children through a woman not of Niflheim.”

“Have you even _bothered_ to convince them otherwise?” he snapped, and she didn’t know why. What did he expect to happen?

What would he do if he learned the bodies he slayed were simply the corporeal forms of the Astrals, and he essentially released them to a stronger level of existence?

“Yes,” she outright lied, and convincingly, too. “I have, but they’ll not hear of it. They expressed that the sins of the father pass off to the child. That no good deed of the mother in this case will ever make Spectro acceptable in their eyes. Perhaps, in time, if the blood becomes incredibly diluted, they will find future generations suitable to approach, but Spectro will live alone as an Oracle.”

She was fairly certain that, if not for the women working on her makeup, Aldercapt would have absolutely destroyed her for that. It would’ve been fine by her. She never once implored the Messengers to reconsider their ruling of Spectro, but actually encouraged it. An Oracle didn’t need Messengers to be effective, but they were a nice guiding light for a life that was very lonely unless one found a partner who could understand in their own way.

Noctis, as the Chosen King of Prophecy, would have been able to understand.

The bloodthirsty monster that was Emperor Aldercapt could never understand.

While the Messengers could have been easily swayed to do otherwise, Luna wouldn’t risk Gentiana, Umbra or Pryna as the Empire’s Magitek grew increasingly stronger and more capable of attacking the ‘paranormal’ of their world. Spectro would walk alone.

Yes, she realized that was an awful thing to think, but she just… couldn’t attach herself enough to her own children to care. She would never abuse them, but she hoped that the bastardization of the Oracle’s bloodline that existed within them would end with them. That Ravus would have a chance to purify the line again.

Unreadable, aside from a glint of fury in his eyes, Aldercapt took his leave. That meant he’d send for her when it was time to take the convoy out.

Some time later—it wasn’t as though she was paying attention to how long—the artists were done and she thanked them as they took their leave, mournful expressions on their faces. She wondered what would happen to them as a result of witnessing that conversation. She was as much a power play for pacification as Noctis was, even if her role wasn’t just sitting on a shelf like a trophy.

Once she was positive that they were gone, she paced into the massive bathroom, the regal and dark accents of its prior monarchy a harrowing reminder of what Lucis was supposed to be, as much as the rest of the Citadel.

She closed the double doors and locked them, then turned and called out quietly, “Umbra, come, please.”

From around a partial wall that belonged to the shower, Umbra appeared, trotting over to her while she lowered to her knees. After a gentle nuzzle to his face with her own, she took out the notebook from his satchel to write on the first blank page within, past vapid conversations that rang of sadness and pain from both her and Noctis.

—

_Dear Noctis,_

_The emperor has mentioned something that you must bring up to your friends. Something most suspicious. He advised me that, after today, I will be allowed to go wherever I please here in the Citadel. I am uncertain what this means, as he did not elaborate when I asked, but this could be indicative of something important happening. Whilst I pray that this is nothing more than a loosening of the chains, I know him too well to not want to be extremely cautious._

_Please, be careful._

_~Luna_

—

Tucking the pen into its holder on the book, and then the book into Umbra’s satchel, she gently kissed him on his snout. “Go, sweet one.” Umbra wagged his tail and nuzzled Luna’s hands that rubbed at his ears affectionately, before turning and trotting off back from whence he came.

She had a horrible feeling about that day.

———

Umbra had arrived about ten minutes before Ignis and Noctis were due to head down for the start of the day three celebration. The doors of his bedroom had been open the entire time after a point, and so Umbra had to lay in wait for a private approach. Noctis was quick to show the note to Ignis, who frowned deeply. What could any of that mean? It was obviously concerning enough for Noctis to actually show a message within that notebook at all.

“I’m not certain what to do with this information,” he whispered to Noctis. “I’ll send Gladio a head’s up, but we might do best with just… being vigilant.”

Noctis nodded, and turned to write a response to Luna. As he did so, Ignis allowed his stomach to sink in unison with his heart. He couldn’t help but feel as though the box that had been opened was starting to constrict around them. There was a destination of escape, but a means to reach it was far away. He hoped that it meant that simply the emperor would relocate Noctis, or… he didn’t know.

When Noctis returned to his side, Ignis turned to him and started checking the day’s makeup for any running or needed touchups. The women were so impeccable at their jobs, however. “Do everything you can to be obedient but aware,” he coached. “And trust in Gladio for the duration of this. We’ll reunite tonight for dinner. Smile as though you mean it, and do your best to act the part they want the people to believe for you. There’s no way they’ll allow you to speak to the press, so you needn’t worry about that. Play the game and you’ll be fine.”

Noctis nodded slowly. The first phase of the celebration was parading the Oracle and the Prince around town.

It used to be a symbolic gesture between royalty and the people, as that day was dedicated to those closest in one’s life. So by having the reigning king and heir travel the city in plain view, it was to tell the people that they were as much a priority to them as the closest people in their daily lives. Of course, the Empire had to bastardize it and twist it into some monstrosity. A subtle brag that they owned the two most important people in that world: the should-be King and his Oracle.

The last time a proper celebration was held, Ignis was allowed to go with, as Noctis refused to go if he couldn’t. It held such iconic persons such as Cor Leonis and Clarus Amicitia, both to keep King Regis and Noctis safe, and to make that subtle declaration alongside them. It was a lovely procession under the Lucii.

Ignis watched the affair on his phone, as it was being streamed live, and it was far from lovely.

It was a _threat_.

Most citizens wouldn’t recognize it as such, particularly the younger ones. At the middle of the procession, Aldercapt sat with Lady Lunafreya and the twins, as well as Ravus. Towards the back, Noctis sat in a convertible with Loqi and Aranea, and several guards to ensure he was under a discreet, but firm, lock and key. Not that he could get away from even Loqi if he tried.

The threat to those who could see was clear, however: The Empire had full control of both King and Oracle, and there was nothing that could be done about it. They would languish in Niflheim’s hands for the rest of their lives, and it was best to just accept it.

Ignis found himself wondering what would have been. Regis had always had a gentle hand with Noctis. Would he have grown up to be kind, or spoiled? Would he have been a fighter, or passive? He seemed so determined after learning about his destiny as the Chosen King from then-Princess Lunafreya to be everything the position entailed. Even as his demeanor darkened as he grew older, he was still a spirited boy in the right moments. They had such wonderful times together. Would he have continued to sharpen his tongue, gotten witty and spoiled? Become a fierce debater? Would he be a good student, or neglectful of his studies? Would he have womanized despite his heart being with Lunafreya, or would he have saved himself for his true love?

Would he have even been interested in girls at puberty? Would he prefer boys, or no one? Would he have been careful with his body and his habits, or would he have been destructive? The possibilities were endless, and the fact that the silent, poised yet clearly disturbed boy they had that day was sad.

Fortunately, yet unsurprisingly, the little parade went off without a hitch. Outside of the assassination of the councilman the previous night, Ignis couldn’t think of a single time a move was made within Insomnia for the last couple of years.

Then again, with how long he’d been separated from the world, perhaps there was more to know on the subject that he had yet to discover.

The procession ended in the front of the Citadel, and with Aldercapt and his prisoner bride being escorted in one direction, and the children in another to be with their nanny. After that, Noctis was led in and allowed to go for Ignis, although he found that Aranea was following him. The only reason Ignis didn’t completely shut off from any personal interaction with her was the mere fact that he knew she had been helping Gladio with his sister. He expected an amicable trade off of responsibility over Noctis.

What he didn’t expect was Aranea moving in close, looking him in the eye, and whispering, “So, I hear Dino got in touch.” Ignis only realized how truly agape he was at that when she snorted. “Jaw together, kid,” she said, pushing his mouth closed with two fingers. “Make sure to make it through tonight’s dinner and we’ll get you guys a way to get to a ride outta here. All of you.”

Judging by Noctis’s face, that was news to him, too, and he watched Aranea with wide eyes as she pushed him to Ignis. It was good that she apparently didn’t expect an answer from either shellshocked boy, as after she said that and pushed the prince, she turned on her heel and departed, leaving Ignis to immediately send Gladio a text.

‘ _I hear dinner will have a surprise ending tonight_ ,’ he sent.

‘ _Surprise how?_ ’ Gladio responded, clearly being cautious.

‘ _Surprising equivalent to a dragoon warrior getting the drop on you_.’

‘ _Oh. Yeah, sounds like it’s gonna be a wild ride_.’

Immediately, Ignis was dragging Noctis on the long way around, to give them a better chance of privacy as they snaked through elevators to reach the dining hall’s level.

“Act exactly as you normally would,” he coached Noctis quietly. “Do not engage in any way different and give them cause to wonder why.” Noctis nodded in agreement. “I’m not sure what the opportunity will be for us to do this, but whenever and whatever it is, when it happens, you stay right beside me, even if we must hold hands.” Again, Noctis nodded. “And most importantly: Do not get your hopes up. Something could go wrong and it could be delayed, or canceled entirely.” Hope was a fragile, almost extinct thing for them. Gaining even a shred felt like a surefire way to jinx anything happening that could help them.

Noctis agreed, while Ignis still had to wonder what convinced Aranea to work for them. He hoped to the heavens and the Astrals that it wasn’t some sort of test, because they would fail miserably.

———

**SEVEN HOURS EARLIER**

“The fact that they’re going to do the ride-through of the city is bullshit,” Nyx commented as he leaned on the edge of Aranea’s desk, his arms folded over his chest.

“Means a lot to you guys, huh?” she asked as she signed off on some paperwork, a single sheet of a stack nearly three inches tall. Some of those sheets were just notices, news updates, the like, since she didn’t exactly use her phone for anything but communication, and didn’t bother with computers unless she had no other choice, but still. A majority of it was stuff she needed to sign, and it was boring a shit.

“Well, not as much as it does for the people born and raised here, but yeah,” he clarified. “The Lucis Caelum family found it important to let people know they were doing their best. Maybe they didn’t always cover everything, and some people were bitter about that, but that march was a promise that they were doing their best for everyone. This just feels like Aldercapt is pulling more of his brainwashing bullshit.”

“It takes eighteen years to fully demoralize a nation,” Aranea said distantly, distractedly.

“Where’d you hear that?”

“That’s what you learn when you move into a command position,” she explained, still half between that conversation and her reading the papers before her. “All you need is one full generation from birth to adulthood to completely turn the tide of a conversation. Inundate the children of today with messages you want them to carry with them as they grow older, making sure the idea sounds good, pleasurable, safe, preferable. Children are the future and all that.”

“That’s really… uh…”

“’Subversive’ is the word you want,” she advised. “It was originally practiced on Accordo, but took too long for Aldercapt’s tastes.”

“What? How?”

“Install a few professors with a radical message, install a few reporters to report on that message with a positive spin, and you catch the most gullible. Then they start to preach the message, and the seed grows. In that case, it was that Accordo would never win against the Empire, but the Empire was merciful. If one brokered a deal with them, they would fall under its control, and its protection, and forgo the fight involved with Tenebrae and Lucis. I think they said it took over a quarter a century to prep Accordo for a treaty, particularly since they’re a democratic-republic.”

“Huh.”

Nyx asked something else then, but Aranea didn’t hear it. She reached a paper that gave her pause, causing her to raise an eyebrow. In front of her was a photocopy of a newspaper article, due to be printed the following day.

‘TIDES ARE CHANGING’ was the title, written by Dino Ghiranzi. Dino was a sly, cunning double agent of a man she’d met during a mission meant for torturing and destroying her ‘dogs’ out in the Lucian wilds. She’d never met anyone who was as good at doublespeak as she was before him, and it amused her.

Through the months since meeting him, she’d come to learn that he used his articles as a way to communicate information between the Hunters, and those few within Insomnia who doing spy work for the Hunters. It took a lot of time and effort to learn his way of communication but, once she learned, she realized how efficient he was. And being a reporter and nothing else, as far as anyone was concerned on the other side, he was able to go places many couldn’t on his press pass alone. It made him one hell of an efficient weapon, and apparently he wasn’t the only one in a seemingly harmless position to do things like that. Yes, he had to peddle propaganda, but even in those articles, he managed to send messages if there were messages to send.

She picked up the paper and leaned back, the font awfully tiny but legible enough, to read what was apparently an editorial from him that time.

—

‘ _’Tides are changing,’ is what I was told when I went out into the Lucian wilds a week ago. When I asked this older gentleman what he meant, he told me that the daemons seem to be getting stronger quite suddenly, as if something is shifting in the very spirit of the planet. ‘Even the sun doesn’t run its normal course, and sometimes the winds aren’t right.’_

_I asked for clarification. Did he mean that metaphorically? Or had he noticed a literal, physical change in the way they worked for us day in and day out?_

_‘Oh, I mean that literally,’ he answered, most candid. ‘It’s like they finally got told some sort of great secret about life, and are changing the way they work in order to prepare for it.’_

_The man in question was a man who didn’t wish to have his name disclosed, and he didn’t disclose his home. He was visiting Lestallum at the time, and was due west for Maldacio, but it was a road trip. ‘You have to take it slow. When the sun was right, it only two days to get there, stopping at sun fall because of the daemons. Now, it takes two and a half,’ he explained. ‘Days are shorter, like it’s the winter, but it’s summer time, so it should take two days by car, and that’s if you’re going the speed limit.’_

_I asked if he was law abiding when it came to such things. In all the time I’ve spent out in the Lucian wilds, I haven’t seen much law enforcement._

_‘I do, but not because I’m afraid of getting pulled over. The natural beasts are everywhere and prone to wandering across the street. One careless move, and you could get a coeurl through the windshield. That’ll kill you before it kills it, and that’s if you’re lucky. Sometimes, there’re people stranded in the in-betweens that could use a hand, too, so I stop for them sometimes. We’re not all lucky enough to have a shield with us, so lending a helping hand is the best way to go. You learn a lot from showing kindness. Things that help you get around, and things that help you survive.’_

_A lot of people have been experiencing revelations these days, it seems. Things that inspire them to do more for themselves, for the people they love, and for the regime they hold dear. All they have to do is to start that drive to get to where they know their lives will improve._ ’

—

“I’ll be damned,” Aranea murmured to herself. She looked up to Nyx, who was staring at her, baffled. “Hey, you ready for Protocol Seven?”

Nyx’s face fell into surprise. “Wait, are you serious?” he whispered, leaning into her.

“You ready or not?”

“Tell me where to go.”

Protocol 7 was a concept she developed privately with Nyx ages ago. He was the best of the remaining glaives, even without his magic. After realizing there was a concerted effort outside the walls of Insomnia to try to extricate the prince, she worked with Dino and Nyx—an effort that took months on its own in order to ensure discretion—to develop a way to help.

When the moment was right, and what that moment would be was unknown because it could’ve been anything, Nyx would be allowed to escape to find a car and get it to a specified location near the Citadel. He would await there, for Noctis and whoever he could bring with, and leave immediately. Dino would be in position at the security checkpoints to ensure the right bribes were passed so that the car wasn’t inspected when it was cleared for passage.

It was clear in that photocopied, soon-to-be-printed editorial, that the time had come. It was time to haul Noctis out of there as soon as possible. With the alcohol usage of the day, waiting until after the emperor was done rubbing the prince’s nose in his kingdom’s failures would leave the best time to get him and his friends out of there.

They would just need to edit the plan to include Iris Amicitia, because she’d be damned if she left that girl there to get wed off to someone.

———

** MIDNIGHT **

Once upon a time, Noctis hated the third day of the Festival of Etro. It was so boring. It was the same damn thing as day two, but less entertaining because of it being more intimate. It was the same as the fourth, which was just smaller and about giving gifts. The only thing about day four was that people often got into fights with one another, since family and friends exclusively gathered together. Day three didn’t even have that, and he could remember pulling Ignis off to play video games the minute his father’s back was turned, because that was vastly better than sitting and listening to the council of his father and their family and friends boast about one another (since boasting about one’s own self was frowned upon).

How he longed for those days.

“Look how lovely our prince is!” Ardyn Izunia greeted as he approached the long dining table, going to take his seat that would place him beside Noctis, and beside the end of the table where Aldercapt sat, already eating. “Your family’s crest looks quite charming on you~”

Noctis said nothing, staring at his untouched plate of food. The paints were changed for that day, the band of black remaining, and the patterns spanning over their entire faces. In his case, the artist decided to change from a side view of the crowned skull of the Lucii, and painted it head on over Noctis’s face. The next day, the black band would go away, and allow her more space, along with his neck, to add more. After that, day five, six and seven would be about masks. Noctis couldn’t wait to be able to hide behind them.

“Here, Noct, let me better prepare your plate,” Ignis murmured as he took Noctis’s plate to separate the food better and to remove the parts he knew the prince wouldn’t want to eat. Through the years, Noctis had become less picky since there was no point in trying to show preferences, but he also ate far less as a consequence.

Noctis just watched him do so while the dining went on around them. The dinner attendees consisted of him, Ignis, Gladio, Loqi, Aldercapt, Ardyn, and an assortment of council members with their spouses. Those who didn’t have spouses came with hired bodies from the Citadel’s harem, and even though they were charming and delightful, it was hard not to see that they were doing so purely through a sort of autopilot that only activated when one lost one’s soul. Noctis understood. He imagined that dead eyed look was something he took on plenty of times through the years during the beatings he received.

Around the hall, soldiers stood in attentive wait. The curtains of the massive windows were drawn, likely to discourage another assassination attempt. The blond boy that had caught his attention through half dream and half reality stood near the main entry as a late arrival.

“Oh, spoiling him tonight, are you?” Ardyn asked Ignis, amused.

“He’s been haunted since the assassination yesterday,” Ignis replied as he worked. “He was covered in the man’s blood.”

“Ah~ Yes, I can see how that would be most troubling.”

Ignis was so good at covering tracks and acting as if nothing else could possibly be wrong. He wondered what Ignis would have been like in a different place and time. Probably amazing, and smart, and everything he already was, but at a vastly superior level.

“He truly is a fantastic steward,” Ardyn told Aldercapt then. “I think he’d be perfect for Princess Daimona.”

Noctis watched as Ignis froze with everything he was doing.

“Do you?” the emperor asked passively as he waved for one of the attendants to the dinner to approach and cut up some of his food for him. Noctis had zero respect for a monarch who couldn’t even cut his own steak. Even when his father could barely use his hands, it didn’t stop him from doing everything he possibly could for himself.

“Oh yes, but education would be the most important, to make up for years lost,” Ardyn replied.

“Forgive me, chancellor,” Ignis said after taking a deep, steeling breath. “I’m afraid I would have to decline. My duties are exclusively to Prince Noctis. I’m simply not suited for someone of another monarchy. The level of training I would need for such an affair would have to be started when I was much younger—”

“Nonsense,” Ardyn said with a passive wave. With that, Ardyn stood up and raised his glass in the air. “I would like to make a speech,” he announced.

Noctis glanced at Ignis and frowned. Gladio, seated across from them was clearly holding back one of his own. Something was very, very wrong.

“Once upon a time, the people of Insomnia were shielded by the noble King Regis Lucis Caelum,” Ardyn began. “Although it weakened his body day by day, he held the great Wall in place, giving all those within a piece of mind that, should they always remain within its grasp, they would never know the pain of the scourge that blights the lands major. Truly, ‘twas a feat only the King of the Crystal could accomplish and was the envy of friend and foe alike.

“And then one day, it was announced that a miracle had come to pass: He who had been spoken of in the Cosmogony and off the lips of the Oracle and the Oracle’s kin had been born.” Ardyn smiled down to Noctis. “Noctis Lucis Caelum, the King of Kings, the King of Light, the _Chosen King_ had been announced by the Kings of Yore to be the one who would rid this world of the Starscourge and, with it, the thrones of his enemies. His ascension would spell the end of any and all who dared stand up to him and his. Rallied with gods and men alike, he was to ascend at the chosen time, to take his place as the harbinger of the end of a millennia of disease.”

As Noctis watched Ardyn’s eyes, he felt sick. He could have sworn they had grown darker, both figuratively and literally.

“But there was much power to be found in the scourge,” Ardyn continued. “Magitek, to be precise. Magitek, the key to surviving the Chosen King’s ascension. But it was our dear Emperor who asked: Why must we merely survive it? Why not fell the Father and take the Son, and with him the key to the end of the daemons? And here we stand, reaping the rewards of this glorious decision.

“Not all do, however. The people of Gralea and Insomnia have been without proper protection long enough, and they need that protection Insomnia once enjoyed to return and be shared between both. Magitek soldiers are no good around the general population, after all. Marionettes off their strings, they are. But then, the question became: How best to bring back the Wall?” Ardyn laughed out then and turned fully to Noctis, bowing grandly as he carefully kept his wine upright. “Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum! Your body is needed!”

Noctis’s eyes went wide at that declaration. Like hell he even wanted to remotely find out what that meant. They could shoot him dead for all he cared. He slammed back in his seat and stood, going for the main exit. Soldiers moved in his way, but Noctis kept stalking for them. If he fought them hard enough, maybe they’d kill him.

He didn’t make it that far, however, when his vision went white. White to red to black, like the times he’d been struck on the head in the past, but unconsciousness didn’t come to him. Instead, he hunched over a little and let out a pained noise in spite of himself as it felt like someone slammed nails into both his eyes and started to snake them through his body, slicing at bone, connective tissue, muscle and fat as they dragged through and to his heart.

“What is the meaning of this?! What are you doing to him?!” he heard Ignis shout from behind him.

‘ _Sit down, you fucking idiot_ ,’ he thought to himself.

“We’ve worked tirelessly to fuse magitek with the Crystal, so it will be easy for our sweet prince to fuel Walls for both,” Ardyn advised coolly. That smug tone was something that made Noctis want to scream. “Sharing _is_ caring, after all. We can’t simply have a prince-powered Wall for only Insomnia, now can we?”

“Do you honestly think the people of Insomnia—”

A shot rang out, echoing off the walls and artwork of the dining hall.

It was so loud, it felt as though Noctis himself had been shot, but with that sound, his sight returned to him. He turned around just in time to see Ignis, who had fallen forward into the table, sliding off to the floor. Gladio, Loqi, and others around them on the other side of the table scattered from their seats, blood and bone and brain covering their plates, their clothes, them.

It was the first time in a long time that the rush of blood derived from a head wound actually caused Noctis to panic. He didn’t even take notice of the shooter: the blond young man Ignis called Prompto, standing behind Ignis’s prior position, lowering his revolver to holster it in that moment.

Noctis tried to rush for Ignis, but the pain in his body spiked and he hit the ground, grasping at his head. He locked his teeth as his vision blurred with tears from pain and sorrow both. Gladio looked horrified and lost. What could be done?

The pain was deafening. Noctis had begun to scream from the pain as it ramped up and felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing his brain with a knife, but even despite that, he started to go for Ignis. Even as he fell to his hands and knees in agony, he crawled for his closest friend, his _best_ friend. Just as he got close enough that the blood rolling from his body like a waterfall started to seep into Noctis’s sleeves, a new pain slammed into his brain stem, and he fell down and rolled over, grabbing at his neck and screaming hard enough that his lungs burned, the pain radiating into his throat. He heard himself screaming then, and he heard how the force of it was turning him hoarse, even as he continued to throw everything he had into his agonized wail.

It was the Crystal. Something deep and instinctual told him that somehow, they were connecting him to the Crystal, but something was wrong. It felt like his entire body was overcharging and ready to go super nova on him, and he didn’t understand.

Tears streamed from his eyes as his voice failed him. Years of not using his words meant that he was weak in speech. He didn’t realize that right then, but he would, and it would make him only more devastated. He could feel the heat of Ignis’s blood trailing through his hair and into the back of his blazer and shirt, and it only made the tears flood over his eyes all the more.

“So, the boy does still have his voice,” Ardyn laughed as he paced around and knelt by Noctis’s side, not at all concerned with the emotional turmoil the prince was suffering.

Noctis flinched as Ardyn tilted his head when he reached him, smiling devilishly down at the teenager. It was then that Ardyn said something that had the prince swearing he’d find a way to kill him, even if it took him ten years to get there:

“I’ve always wanted a choir boy to sing me to my ascension.”


	19. Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, have any of you done out-of-bounds glitches to Insomnia before? Or seen videos of it? I’m not certain if they patched the most recent way to glitch through the gate back to Insomnia, but I have done it as of, I believe, 1.21. It involves pressing the Regalia in its off-road form against the gate, perfectly straight on the front end, and then warping into the front wheel and repeatedly warping until the game forgets the barrier is there and lets Noct through. This worked on any surface that had a ‘beyond’, pretty much, and you could even glitch it… well. Spoilers, if you haven’t played Royal Edition, I guess.
> 
> Anyway, that’s in my head for part of this. When you go through and start, there’s a whole sort of city suburb area that you pass through, before the main road lifts to a bridge that goes across water to enter Insomnia proper. Unfortunately, the road is completely hollow and without the God Mode Glitch, I couldn’t get there. I know Noct’s got a programmed swimming function, but I could never glitch into the water, even as I traveled the whole damn area (and it took a long time).
> 
> Interestingly, even though the guys are behind, Prompto’s camera feature believes they’re there, so he’ll take pictures of you all in the glitch area.
> 
> We also can assume that those farmlands we see in Kingsglaive are still there, and I believe the Brotherhood incident when Noct was eight was on the outer limits of the wall, and likely shrunken from regarding Regis’s Wall after the attack, since it was clear the Empire could breach it.
> 
> Beyond all of that, I’m sort of modifying the actual physical, stone wall’s location (well, and other locations to fit more the population in certain locations than the game was capable of doing). It’s more a simplicity’s sake thing than anything else. I’ve been hitting a writer’s block lately, so anything that inspires me gets added, and anything that is acting as a hurdle gets knocked down.
> 
> This didn’t end up ultimately exactly how I was hoping, mostly in execution, though the point is there that I wanted to get across. Fighting writer’s block, starting a new job, having the flu… mannnn…
> 
> No trigger warnings really needed, unless Gladio wishing times were better so he could properly perv on a certain blonde mechanic in third person narrative is upsetting. There is a whore in this chapter, and it isn’t anyone but Gladio.

“Don’t throw away everything just on this,” warned Loqi Tummelt as he escorted a stunned Gladiolus Amicitia for the garage. Neither young man had a chance to clean up from the explosion that had happened at dinner. It made Gladio sick. The red and the bits of body on him was of one of his _closest friends_ …

As the elevator descended, Gladio couldn’t even get himself to look up at the dial to see how long they had. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. It was a miracle he was as composed as he was.

“You’re… really okay with this?” he managed to croak out, not able to gather the strength to look at the equally messed Loqi. From the one glance he got of him before they got on the elevator, if his face was any indication, then Gladio knew he looked like an absolute mess, with blood wetting his facepaint and causing it to mix together and bleed down his features.

“Get this straight, Amicitia: There is no clause like your weak armies had of ‘moral objection’. What I’m okay with or not okay with has no bearing on events.” His tone was so cold, but Gladio had seen the shock on his face when that robot of a boy shot Ignis. He refused to believe that not even a small part of that attitude wasn’t compartmentalization.

Gladio needed to compartmentalize.

He drew quiet. There was no point in trying to sway Loqi, especially in the state he was in personally.

The elevator reached B2 of the garage, and slid open. Gladio stayed where he was, so that Loqi could step out first. However, Loqi instead grabbed him by the arm and pushed him out first. Gladio turned in confusion once he was outside, and noted that Loqi was hitting the Close Door button after pressing for a different floor above.

“What’s going to be your choice, Shield?” the younger man asked as the doors closed between them, watching Gladio harshly from behind makeup and gore.

Gladio didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but he did know what his choice was going to be.

Maybe he didn’t have friends to run with, or a prince to protect, but he had a little sister who needed him still, and a car waiting for them.

Noctis was still alive, and if Cor really was as well, then he’d have an idea of what in the hell might’ve happened, and how they could stop it.

———

Even though his freedom was contingent on helping others to freedom, Nyx Ulric didn’t mind. It was for the greater good of Lucis, of the allies that once depended on its strength. Of that, his loyalty was never shaken.

His hope was, however, and it was a cruel reminder to never allow himself to have hope, when Aranea sent a cryptic set of numbers to the burner phone she provided him. He took a bit of time using a small writing pad and pen, on the hood of the nondescript vehicle that could seat five plus the driver, to decipher what it meant. For a long time, they had developed a writing system with Aranea for covert planning. It was normally only used in the field, when she would send intelligence they normally wouldn’t receive, to ensure they entered no battle blind.

‘ _Things just went south really fast. Might be going alone. Give it to 4am and then leave ASAP. Do not respond._ ’

“The fuck does that mean?” he mumbled to himself. Being told not to respond wasn’t out of the ordinary, so he didn’t question that part, at least. Sometimes, it was just too dangerous if someone had company and they didn’t need their phone chiming and drawing suspicions.

He didn’t have wait too long before he got his answer as to what Aranea meant by her message. It came in the form of Gladiolus Amicitia running up with his little sister and saying, quickly and quietly, “We need to go!”

Nyx was more than a little confused. Gladio was out of his decorative paint for the third day, and carrying a single duffel bag, which was as black as the careless outfit he was wearing. While the little girl’s clothing was also black and more about movement and style, her face was still painted, yet streaked and ruined with tears.

“We need to go right now,” Gladio whispered yet again when Nyx just stared at the two.

“I don’t understand. Where’s Prince Noctis?” The fact that that question caused the young girl to sob out and cover her mouth to silence herself worried Nyx deeply.

“He’s been indefinitely detained. I’ll explain on the way,” Gladio promised, still soft-spoken yet urgent.

“…yeah, okay,” Nyx said, going to get the back passenger door on the driver’s side for them. “C’mon, let’s get moving.” God, he wished he could reach out to Aranea for confirmation.

The only sound in the car for a while was Gladio’s sister, as she clung to him and refused to slide over to buckle in. Insomnia was a big place, with the Citadel so close to the eastern shore, it took nearly an hour at that time of the morning to get to the walled gates. The bridge itself, exiting from downtown, took nearly ten minutes on its own. Granted, Nyx was kind of speeding, but not so fast as to gain attention.

Just as the signs on the highway indicated that the wall’s gates were fifteen miles away, Gladio leaned a bit to the side, to look over Nyx’s shoulder at him. “Are you staying with us, or do you have to return?”

“Staying with you until further notice,” Nyx replied. “Aranea’s dealing with the story behind it.” He glanced in the rear view mirror while he pressed the button to roll up his window. “…what in the hell happened, exactly?”

“The whole dinner was a setup,” Gladio answered, gazing out his passenger window. Nyx had to bet he was being coy because of his sister. She still seemed so upset. “We just need to hope that the rumors about Cor Leonis surviving are true.”

“Agreed.”

There, they left it. The gate was in sight. Heavily guarded with cement pylons that prevented passage, and men armed to the teeth for anyone who tried to run through without permission, there were flood lights that filled the night on both the inside and the outside, and it was just not a place one would normally want to be. They just needed to trust Aranea’s plan. Plenty of times, plans of hers seemed deadly, but following them to the letter had gotten Nyx and the others out alive time and again, so that time would be no different; of that, he was confident.

Sure enough, as they drew closer to the lanes of security, the marquees over each suddenly turned from green ‘OPEN’ displays, to red ‘CLOSED’ displays. All but one, at the far end, the darkest end. The spotlights’ roaming paths didn’t seem to quite reach there.

Nyx pulled off to that side and slid to a stop by the security kiosk there. The man inside the kiosk stood and walked out, Nyx rolling down his window once more to the clearly Lucian man, who leaned against the window frame with his hands. “Evening,” the guard greeted.

“Good Fourth,” Nyx greeted in kind, casual in his reference to the fourth day of the Festival of Etro.

The guard nodded. “Getting better, too.” He had been gazing around the area, as if looking for someone that didn’t include the guards already in view. “Once you get out the gate, there’s no turning back unless you’re coming by force,” he warned after a pause.

“We understand,” replied the glaive.

The guard nodded and straightened up while adjusting his hat. “May Etro guard her gate.” It was an antiquated phrase that Insomnians used to say as a way to wish for someone’s safety. It was one that seemed to pique Gladio’s interest, Nyx noticed via a glance through his rear view, but he withheld asking for the moment.

The guard entered his kiosk then, and lowered the cement pylons, allowing Nyx to pull into gear and depart.

“Are we going to have to fight daemons if they get in the way?” Gladio asked after he was absolutely certain another shoe wouldn’t drop on them.

“Despite this thing looking old, Aranea made sure the headlights are daemon warders.”

“Gotcha.”

The stone wall soon faded from view, long after all the other kiosks activated once more to both incoming and outgoing traffic, and the three settled in for a drive that would take several hours. “It’s about two hours to the nearest station, but there’re no cops out here, so I’m going to push it a bit. I’ll get faster when the sun rises,” Nyx explained, Gladio nodding.

To the kid’s credit—it was hard to believe that the giant man was twelve years his junior—stayed awake the entire time, simply holding his sister and looking out his window in a haunted silence. He looked on edge. Likely because of the fact that he’d never set foot outside the wall, as with most Insomnians, and certainly hadn’t expected the journey to only be the three of them.

“I noticed that commented about Etro struck a chord,” Nyx finally said as the sky had turned a notable fire red in alert to the rising sun.

“People loyal to the prince over the Empire use it to identify themselves quietly,” Gladio replied candidly. “It was just a wish for you not to get killed doing something. Still is, but also… that. Etro’s the Lucii’s patron goddess.”

“The stories says she’s gone, though?”

“So are the tens of other Astrals, but people still recognize them with the Six, so…”

“Huh.” Honestly, Nyx never had time to really learn those ways. The Kingsglaive was made mostly of immigrants, with only a few Insomnians feeling motivated for field work. Most wanted the job of the Crownsguard, which was understandable, but Nyx never really liked their side of the abilities’ coin. Between the fact that he had so many immigrants around him almost since the first day he got there as an early teen, to how often that job had kept him outside the city, to the annexation of Lucis, some turn of phrases eluded him. “So, by that guy saying that…”

“He supports us leaving because maybe it’ll bring some good to this whole damn thing. Means the contact got a hold of him, too.”

“Could it have been a coincidence?”

“Possibly, but not likely,” Gladio replied. “It’s hard to explain, but you never hear someone saying it who is just saying it innocently. They’re too afraid.”

Nyx nodded. He supposed he could understand that. “Well, I can tell you that you’re in for a culture shock out here,” he moved on, gesturing a hand to the outside scenery. “People aren’t so scared to speak their minds, or to fight for their homes.”

“Really?” Gladio asked. “Hearing the Empire talk about it, they’re more obedient than Insomnians.”

“ _Hell_ no they aren’t. About a third of the glaives died from the people out there, not the daemons,” was the insistent response, making Gladio raise his eyebrows. “They fight dirty, and I don’t blame them one bit.”

“Do you… think they’ll have a problem with us?” The question was asked as Gladio looked down to the uniform he was wearing, of Imperial white and red.

“That’s why we’re stopping in Hammerhead first. I’m told there’s someone there that’ll help with that.”

“Okay.” Gladio looked out the window beside him then, gazing at the distant black forms, illuminated by fire, of Red Giants. Having never seen them outside of the city before, there was something haunting about seeing them like that. Something ironic in how his first taste of freedom from Insomnia in his entire life was punctuated by the sight of daemons that had technically always known it.

It was sometime after the sun had fully risen over the horizon that Gladio spotted what appeared to be their destination in the distance. It was a small little hub, with just a few buildings that included a gas station and what appeared to be a mechanic's garage. He didn't comment when Nyx confirmed his assumption with a, "There we are." He sure was glad, though. Iris needed a bed, and he needed to regain the feeling in his arm.

It was just moments at that point, and Nyx was pulling them into the location that was named 'Hammerhead'. The mechanic's garage stood wide open, with some people meandering around within as they were preparing for the day, though they stopped when Nyx came to a stop at the front opening and went to get out. Gladio nudged Iris awake, and they were soon joining Nyx.

They didn't have to enter the garage, because they were quickly being greeted by one hell of a looker. If it was a normal day, Gladio would have been downright determined to land the blonde in cut-off shorts and a heavy work coat. He liked ladies who clearly worked hard at their craft, and he could tell she had already gotten to it with the way she was covered in grease and oil from a car that was elevated up for work on its under carriage.

"My word, it took y'all a while to get here," she commented, her voice dripping with what was used as the stereotypical accent of people in the 'Lucian wilds', as the Empire called it.

"We drove as fast as we could," Nyx swore.

"I mean eight years worth'a time," she replied, setting her hands on her waist. "Where's th' prince?"

"Not here," Gladio said somberly, watching her carefully.

That careful gaze was returned as she studied how he looked and how he said that. She apparently realized something severe had happened, as she sighed and tilted her head a bit. "Well, I'm Cindy Aurum."

"Nyx Ulric," Nyx greeted. He gestured to Gladio and Iris. "Gladiolus and Iris Amicitia."

"Oh. Hang on one sec," Cindy said with broadening eyes. She turned and put a hand up to her mouth, shouting, "Paw paw! The Amicitia kids're here!"

"What 'bout the others?" an elderly voice called back, closing in progressively.

"Ya gotta ask them!" she replied.

Soon, an old man, walking with a hunch in his back from years of work wearing on his spine, emerged into the sunlight. At one time, he must have been fairly tall. He also looked like a relative to the rather striking Cindy. He looked over Iris and Gladio as he approached, critically and studying their faces carefully.

"Ol' Clarus could'a never denied either of ya, could he?" he commented.

"You knew our dad?" Iris asked, speaking respectfully, drowsily, and clutching to Gladio's arm still.

"Once upon a time, we used ta travel all over, ol' Clarus, Reggis, Weskham an' Reggie. Cor a bit later, even," he advised. "'m Cid Sophair."

Iris shook her head slowly, not recognizing the name understandably, but Gladio did. He remembered the stories his father told to him when he was much younger, about the trips he went on with then-Prince Regis and his entourage. Clarus always said he was looking forward to the day Gladio would get to do that with Noctis and his chosen retinue, but that, of course, never came.

"Cor's alive, right?" Gladio asked, stepping a little closer and leaving Iris behind him.

"Sure is, but I haven't seen 'im in some years," Cid advised as he loped for the garage again.

Gladio stayed with him, glancing back to Nyx, who simply nodded as he stayed near the worried Iris. She wasn't alone with him, though, Cindy leaning over to speak to her with a warm smile. That was good for the time being.

"Where is he? Things have gotten bad," Gladio told Cid as he followed him.

"As if'n they ain't already?"

"Right..." Gladio winced. "Worse. Something happened this morning. We were supposed to have a Festival of Etro dinner with the emperor and chancellor, and something... something happened. Noctis was disabled, his steward was killed. The fact that I didn't react is the only reason I wasn't killed, too. I had no choice but to leave and hope Cor really was alive so he could--"

"You tryin'a convince me, or convince yerself, boy?" Cid interrupted. He slowly lowered onto a stool, and looked up grimly at Gladio. "Look. Ya ain't got any justifications ya gotta make."

"But--"

"Yer Clarus's boy. Now, I know ya probably feel like a failure, an' maybe ya could've done somethin' better, but I know, bein' Clarus's boy, ya did everythin' you could in th' moment," the old man said firmly. A surprised breath of relief escaped Gladio, his shoulders sinking down. "It ain't a great life ya been livin'. That landshark of a reporter told me all 'bout it."

"Dino?" the younger man questioned, baffled at the attitude that Cid said that with.

"Ain't got much patience for th' press," was the response.

"Ah."

"I know yer thinkin' that ya abandoned that boy by playin' th' game," Cid then went on. "But how would ya run if'n yer body was weak like his? With yer sister, no less." Gladio didn't buy that, and his somber silence said as much. "Now, best'n we can do is get ya t' Cor, doncha think?"

"Can he really help at this point?"

"Better'n nothin'," Cid pointed out, to which Gladio shrugged and conceded.

"Gladdy!" Iris called suddenly.

The older Amicitia hesitated, but Cid just waved him along with, his expression grim and weary. Gladio nodded and turned on his heel, returning to his sister promptly. Before he could ask her what was going on, she pointed to Nyx with wide eyes.

"Cor's definitely gonna be able to help," Nyx advised when Gladio's eyes turned to him.

"Huh?"

Nyx snapped his hands out to each side of him, and from thin air, and after a crystalline sheen burst through the air, fighting daggers appeared in his grasp and he grinned a bit. "Something's changed."

"Holy shit, you have your glaive abilities?" Gladio asked, his eyes then as wide as his sister's.

"Just felt them," Nyx replied, bringing the daggers forward to look over them. "It's been a long time, but you never mistake the feel of that coursing through you."

"Must be whatever happened to Noct," Iris said, frowning.

"That and the distance," Gladio guessed, watching as Nyx cycled and tested weapons and abilities he hadn't seen in a long time. "They've got a blocker around the Crystal, but I'm thinking that it has its limits. With Noct cut off, that limit extended out indefinitely to people who would get their powers through him. Now that he's apparently connected to the Crystal, that block isn't effective anymore outside of a certain distance."

"And it might not even work on any of us," Nyx pointed out. "We all still had our powers after King Regis died. It was only after the block cut the prince off that we lost ours."

"So that means the other surviving glaives..." Iris trailed off, causing Nyx to nod.

"If that's true, they're back up and running, too. They should be willing to play it low so long as Highwind is willing to protect them," Nyx confirmed. "We're all on the same wavelength here."

Gladio opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Cindy. "This is a mighty fine development!" she piped. "Well, I reckon we oughta get y'all a place t'sleep," she went on. "Last I heard, Cor's on off in Maldacio, which is a few day's worth a drivin', 'less ya go straight through, an' I don't recommend that, even though ya got them shiny Insomnia headlights on yer car."

"It's really that far away?" Gladio asked with a frown.

"It is," Nyx confirmed, allowing the shurikens he brought out to look over to disappear by tossing them out to the side. "If we don't take detours and we maintain a high speed, we should be able to cut it down to about an eight hour drive. They don't really police out here. So long as we don't draw attention to ourselves, the likelihood of us running into anyone from the military is slim at best."

"Until I don't show up for duty tomorrow," Gladio commented distantly.

"Pfft," Cindy tutted. "We can work all them details out later. Let's get y'all fed an' rested in the meantime." She turned and gestured to a building that stood behind the gas station. "That there's an apartment buildin'. Mostly fer th' workers of the gas station n' diner, but there's an available space fer y'all to stay. Go on over to th' diner an' by the time yer done, I'll have y'all set up."

"Thanks," Nyx said to her, nodding once, and then gesturing for the younger duo to follow him. "Come on. You heard the lady."

Iris took for following Nyx, Gladio bowing his head to Cindy in thanks and trailing behind. Everyone was so confident, outside of him and his sister. Was that confidence well-founded? The world had suddenly gotten much bigger for them both. He supposed he had no choice but to trust the people who had been out there before, but it was hard after everything. After having basically no safety without bowing to everything expected of him for the sake of his sister, since his actions had literally no bearing on Noctis or anyone else, and after watching his two only, real friends be stripped away...

Things were only going to get harder before they got easier, that much was clear.

He hoped to whatever Astal was listening that Nyx was right about Noctis's connecting to the Crystal meant that the barrier had been obliterated to those who depended on him for their abilities. They needed Cor at full strength. He would just fight the horrible thoughts that Cor was some sort of cripple following that day eight years ago.

...he was really going to have to fight that thought, because hope was about the only thing he had at that point and, for the first time in a long time, he could actually _have_ hope.


	20. Ribbons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long.
> 
> This isn't too good, but it gives some things?
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Emotional/mental manipulation.

It was hard to explain how it felt, having to fight the urge to feel horrified.  Just when Lunafreya thought she had finally perfected repressing all of her emotions, she found herself confronted with a sight that she never wanted to see, following a call from the emperor, her husband, to descend to the throne room at noon.

The entire room was filled with ribbons of blue and magenta light, snaking out from the open Crystal’s face.  Snaking out and around the body of Noctis, suspending him high above the floor as he rested in unconsciousness.  Dried blood covered his body, and it was all she could do from panicking.  What had _happened_?  How did it happen?  What was going on?

“Don’t worry, Lady Lunafreya,” the sickening and familiar voice of Ardyn Izunia soothed as he came up from behind her.  He leaned over to smile at her.  “The blood’s not his.”

“…whose is it?” she asked, just barely holding onto her composure.  The prince looked so ethereal, hovering up above that room that should have rightfully been his, the misting, glowing ribbons reflecting nearly perfectly off the floors where they weren’t chipped and cracked from the attack eight years ago.  It was haunting, deceptively peaceful, and ghostly because of it.

“The steward,” Ardyn replied frankly, finally stepping around from behind her, in order to pass her by.  “He made the mistake of showing his backbone at the wrong moment in time, you see.”

With a hard swallow, Luna choked back the gasp that threatened to leave her.  Ignis had been so kind and brave in that short time she was around him.  Without a second thought, he braved guiding her so she could just simply see Noctis and touch his hand, with little care of his own well-being.  How wretched was fate that they would kill him…

“I see…” she said slowly.  “And this?”

“Our dear prince is helping shield many people, not just Insomnia, now,” Ardyn said, grinning up at Noctis.  “Gralea will now be protected as well.”

“This is not just to use him for magical shields,” Luna commented dubiously.  “That does not require any of this.”

“Ah, yes, sometimes I forget you’re the Oracle,” he tsked.  “The emperor ripped all your fangs, after all.”  Luna blinked and, again, fought away a frown.  Ardyn pulled his eyes from the display hovering above them to look at her.  “The boy is useless as the Chosen King.  His body is frail from years of neglect and abuse.  His spirit is still smiled upon by the Crystal and the Astrals, however.  Makes him an effective gate to the powers the Crystal has been laying in wait to bestow upon him.”

“A gate,” Luna echoed quietly.

When it dawned on her what exactly was happening, she slowly looked at Ardyn, and that time, she was unable to control her look of horror.  The broad, devilish smile that he gave to her in exchange validated everything.

Ever since Ardyn had been elected chancellor, she had her suspicions about who he was.  Gentiana had long been warning her to be very careful around him, and private research between her and her brother had turned up a suspicious amount of nothing in regards to where he came from.  They had discussed the possibility that he was the Usurper of whom she was warned as a child by Bahamut. They never dismissed the possibility, but they couldn’t find true evidence, so it was never fully discussed otherwise.

But in that moment…

“Tell me who you truly are,” she then directed, her shoulders straightening as she stood tall.

“Afraid I’ll hurt your family, dear?”

Luna continued to stare at him with narrowed eyes.  She wouldn’t allow him of all people to make her afraid.  “My powers are useless against man and beast, but I’ll not allow the likes of you to intimidate me,” she said, her voice lowering an octave, becoming threatening.  She was too weary from years at the hands of the emperor to feel a shred of fear from Ardyn, anyway.

The chancellor looked surprised, and then… impressed.  “Such a delicate frame houses a fiery spirit.”

“Conviction is a powerful tool.  Speak now, Usurper.  Does the emperor know your true face?”

“Of course he does, Oracle,” Ardyn chuckled.  “Well, he knows what you do.”  He gazed up at the floating prince again, beaming with pride.  “He bears a striking resemblance to one of his ancestors, you know.”  Luna didn’t respond, but she was certainly listening.  “Somnus Lucis Caelum.  Are you familiar with that name?”

“The Founder King.  What of him?”

“He had the same features, the same hair, the same eyes.  Ill behaved, he.  Quite the thief.”

“As if you would know,” Luna said then, huffing a bit.  What an obscene conversation.

“Don’t tell me…”  Ardyn lowered his eyes so he could look at her, and seemed to grin all the broader.  “Bahamut didn’t tell you?”

“…tell me what?”

Ardyn laughed a bit as he moved in close.  Close enough that she could smell the infection of the Starscourge on him.  Close enough that she could tell he had no warmth to his body, as if he was a cadaver walking.  She didn’t back down, but the smell and sensation of that closeness was harrowing.

“Prince Noctis,” he whispered, leaning in so close that he was practically pressing his lips to her ear, “wasn’t the first one to be picked as the Chosen King.  Perhaps you should go art-spotting once your husband is done claiming your body as you dream of being elsewhere with the boy, hm?”

That made Luna’s blood run cold.  Even though it was true, it was yet another thing she did her best to keep to herself.  She’d never so much as told her most trusted handmaid…

Mercifully, Ardyn didn’t linger any longer than that.  He brushed past her, heading for the throne room’s exit.  “I have other matters of which I must attend, dear Lady Lunafreya!  We can resume this chat another time, once you’ve had a chance to take my advice~”

Luna said nothing, watching Ardyn’s departure over her shoulder.  When he was gone, and she was left alone in that massive room, she gazed once again, up at the slumbering Noctis as he floated among the light.

“Bahamut, where are you?” she whispered in worry.  Bahamut was the Crystal’s curator.  Not only that, he was to be the primary force in protecting the Chosen King once the power of the Crystal moved from it to him.  Why wasn’t he there to stop it?

She spoke no more, even if she was breathing her words, when the emperor entered the throne room.  In fact, she suspended all thought processes and allowed her body to go into autopilot.  “You called for me, Iedolas?” she asked, eyes vacant and face placid, as she bowed in greeting to him.

“I have questions for you, my dear,” Aldercapt advised as he passed her by, and started his very slow ascent up the stairs leading the throne.

She trailed after him, clasping her hands together.  “I will do all I can to answer his Holiness’s questions,” she promised, her plain and distant tone meaning nothing to him.

He nodded but didn’t speak again, not until he was up the many stairs and easing down into the seat that once held King Regis, and should have held Noctis.  It was so distressing.  All hope was lost, wasn’t it?

“Are the gods fallible?” he finally asked.  He was old, so Luna imagined it took a lot out of him to reach that throne each and every time.

“How do you mean?”

“Are they omniscient?  Omnipresent?  Can they be killed?”

“Oh.”  That was something Luna had been asked more than a few times.  However, she knew that if the emperor was asking, it wasn’t for a good reason.  He wasn’t just curious, either.  “On the subject of being killed, there are plenty of tales of this happening, but always at the hands of other Astrals,” she replied.  “Humans who have tried have usually felt the ends of their blades for the attempt.”

“Shiva fell pretty easily.”

Luna blinked rapidly at first as that knocked her right out of her normal, passive, robotic state, and she looked at Aldercapt in confusion.  “…what do you mean?”

“We felled the ice giant yesterday,” he advised, closing his eyes as he rested back.  “It took three hours.”

“I… don’t understand.  Iedolas, _why_?”

“Don’t you ever wonder why it is that the Astrals have been so conservative on to whom they bestowed the gift of inherent magic?  They fear what the world would do with free magic.”

“You used Magitek on her…” Luna realized, her words airy with the very breath she let them out on.

“If the others are wise, they’ll mind their distance.”

“Titan remains locked under his meteor and is of no threat,” Luna said quickly.  “Ifrit sleeps within the volcano of the far west.  Leviathan slumbers under the seas of Altissia, buried under water and mud.  Ramuh is up with the stars and has no interest in descent until beckoned—”  She stepped forward as Aldercapt waved for her to come closer. “—And Bahamut has not been seen by any Oracle for centuries.”

“Bahamut exists in here, correct?” Aldercapt questioned.  Slowly, he lifted a hand to point at the Crystal above him.

Luna nodded.  There was no point in lying.  It was written in the Book of Cosmogony, even though that book was banned under the Empire.  “He slumbers in wait of the King of Light.”

“Then I hope he enjoys the mute prince’s company.”  He lowered his hand and raised the other for Luna to take.  “Pity, your upbringing.”

With that silent request, Luna fell back into her automated movements, and took his hand so that he could pull her in to him.  “It was that of an Oracle.”  And a girl forced to become a woman well before she was ready, and to a man she didn’t want.  The only person she ever wanted was hovering high above them, bound in some sort of mystical chains.

“It was that of a slave with no collar.”  Once Luna was seated in his lap.  “I’ve been considering bestowing upon you the title of empress.”  Luna looked at him, blank eyed, but attentive.  “Should I pass before Daemona is old enough, I would rather she have her mother stand behind her to advise her than the voices of the council alone.”

“I would advise her regardless,” Luna answered.  She fought so hard to stay engaged with her children, to quietly teach them values not found in the leadership of the Empire.  Although she couldn’t say she loved either of them, they loved her, and she couldn’t see leaving Daemona to flounder as a young empress… mostly because Luna feared the wrong voices would end with catastrophic results for the citizens.  Children didn’t get nuance.  If she ever felt sadism was enjoyable…

“Yes, but the council would find means to dismiss your word to her.  If you were the Mother Empress, however, such a station resides above the council.”

There was a certain level of relief in hearing him say that.  Not because she valued his opinion of her, but because that meant she had been effective in her act with him for all those years.  She and Ravus both played the same game: Do everything one could to be convincingly trustworthy to those around them.  To hear it pay off was a large relief, actually.

“Whatever your decision, Iedolas, I will respect and accept it.”

*****

Aranea Highwind hadn’t been herself that day.

Prompto tried to gauge how to handle her from where he stood at attention, while she sat at her desk, staring into space for nearly three hours.  Was she upset that one of the dogs got away?

…on some level, Prompto could feel that wasn’t it, but he couldn’t find his way to it logically, so he kept pushing that away.

“Would you like me to go find him, commodore?” he asked finally, looking directly at her.  The sudden break in the prevailing silence had the other dogs looking at him from their cages, but he paid them no mind outside of awareness.

Aranea snorted, slowly focusing her eyes on him.  “Do you feel anything?” she asked.

Prompto tilted his head slightly at that, confused.  “Pardon?”

The question had Aranea rolling her eyes, and Prompto felt a small, worried pang in his stomach.  Had _he_ done something wrong?

The commodore leaned back in her chair, turning it fully to face him as he stood to her right.  Was she mad?  Was he supposed to do something he didn’t?  How mad was she?  Would he have to return to the labs?

“What’s your story, kid?” she asked after leaving him to a panic that never manifested where she could see.  “I’ve known that crazy old man all my life, and I don’t recall ever seeing you until you were like this high.”  She gestured to about the four foot mark.  “So, where’d you come from before that?”

“I was made in the labs of Niflheim,” Prompto replied, his response automatic and honest.  “From the DNA of Besithia himself.”

“ _I know that_ ,” Aranea emphasized, waving a hand to shake him away from that.  “But all the subjects from that period failed.  Why are you still alive?”

Prompto, for once, showed some sort of emotion.  He furrowed his brow slightly and gazed to the floor in thought.  How should he answer that?  His memories before he was taken in by the Empire still existed, but… they existed like the memories created from reading a book.  Secondhand.  As if he himself hadn’t lived them.  “I…”

“Remember:  Everything that happens in here, and that’s said in here, stays between all of us.  The dogs don’t speak without permission.”

“…I lived here, in Insomnia.”  He didn’t notice the ‘dogs’ looking at each other with raised eyebrows, but he did watch Aranea lean forward, elbows on knees, listening attentively.  “I don’t… know how I got here.  I thought I’d always been here.  I knew my parents had adopted me, but I didn’t think I came from outside of Insomnia, let alone Lucis…”  The way he spoke seemed so dispassionate, but his eyes were moving as if he was watching the memories, reading them fresh off the pages of that proverbial book.

To Aranea, that spoke of the utter damage done to the boy.

“Um… So I just… was a kid.  Who went to school, and did homework, and chores, and everything kids do.  Then, after the takeover, they called for ‘children of Niflheim’, and so I answered and was returned to Besithia, where I belonged.”

“What makes a child leave their parents for strangers, ‘where you belong’ or not?” Aranea pressed.

“My adoptive parents didn’t want me, and I didn’t know for sure, but the code on my wrist and the fact that so many of you look like me, with fairer skin and eyes, and hair, I made a guess.  I was right.  Now I’m back with my people, as a son of Niflheim.”

Aranea tilted her head as she studied Prompto’s face; it made him awfully confused.  What was her problem?  Did he say something wrong?

“Did you ever feel… anything before you turned yourself in?”

“…I don’t remember.”

“God, they fucked you up down there, didn’t they, kid?”  That comment was so disarming, as was the way Aranea turned to her desk and slapped both hands on the desk as she went to stand.  It was all _so disarming_ , Prompto actually took a step back as she closed the space between them.  She got right up in his face, staring into his eyes.  When she spoke, she spoke firmly, yet quietly.  “Don’t you _ever_ draw your weapon on the back of someone’s head when they are of no danger to anyone.  Don’t, ever again, do you understand me?” she threatened darkly.

That order was… in complete conflict with the orders he’d been given about the required conduct of the prince and his keepers.  “I…” he started, before pursing, then biting on his lips.

Aranea snorted.  “God, they did fuck you up.”  She backed off and pointed to the doors.  “Go.  Back to the labs.”

“Commodore—”

“If you’re not going to take my word as priority over others, then I don’t want you under my command.  I want loyalty, not some robot that’s preprogrammed with priorities.”

Prompto’s eyes spaced out briefly.  Very briefly, before he pulled himself together, and straightened himself.  “Ma’am.”

It was the only farewell he gave before turning on his heel.  He didn’t want to go back to the labs.  He didn’t.  But he had to remind himself that he handled the men who used to watch him.  Returning to the lab meant that his freedom to protect himself would be stripped, he assumed, so he… really certainly hoped those men were gone.

As he left and the door to her massive space closed, Libertus opened the expanded cage, broadened for all the things she promised him and the others, and went over to her.  “Harsh,” he huffed.

“I can’t have a kid like that in here.  Not for what we’re doing,” Aranea sighed, dropping in her seat.

“There’s likely a scared little boy somewhere inside him.”

“Oh, I know there was at one point, but not any longer.”

Aranea was pretty done with the subject, but the Glaive was leaning on her desk, and down to catch her eyes.  “Look, I understand.  But if we can break through to that part of him, we could really _use him_ for what’s coming up next.”

“And what’ll you have me do?  Huh?  You saw him,” she snapped, gesturing at the doors through which the teenager exited.  “The hell do we break through eight years of programming?”

“Maybe look for the adoptive parents first,” Crowe suggested, sitting on the edge of her new, albeit very narrow, bed within her own caged area.  “See what would make a ten year old turn away from the only thing he’s ever known, in order to join the enemy.”

“Even if they’re dead at this point, maybe it’ll lead to friends of his, or theirs, or something,” Libertus agreed.  “But if the Amicitia’s and Ulric get to Cor Leonis, we need all the help we can get.  None of us are getting any younger.”

“He’d be an effective spy,” Crowe added.  “If no one suspects him, with his access to the emperor and Besithia, he could get some crazy amounts of information.  Hell, he might already have crazy amounts of information.”

Aranea huffed at all of that.  “This tag-teaming sucks.”  They were right, however.  The kid was a little war machine.  If they could find a way to break the programming he’d endured, he really would be one of the most valuable allies in their fight, and the accesses he had were substantial.  It had Aranea slapping her hands over her face and leaning back in her seat, letting out a groan; all while Libertus and the others watched her expectantly.  “ _Fine_ ,” she said after a pause.  “I’ll figure it out.  Let’s just hope the name he has now is the same he had in his previous life.”

*****

Prompto found himself experiencing something he didn’t remember as he made his way down for the labs.  It was a feeling he used to have, once upon a time, but the memories felt like ghosts: hard to see, hard to understand, and fleeting.  It felt as though his stomach was falling out of his body, through his feet, and his body developed a tremor, the closer he got to the area.

He couldn’t even notice the tremor when he lifted his imprinted hand up to scan through each door, but he could feel it because his muscles were aching.  Still, he pressed on, like a robot moving through pre-programmed actions, and what took about ten minutes to each, he felt had only taken a few, thanks to blocking out the world and simply following order-driven muscle memory.

It was only when he heard the voice of Miss Metti that he snapped out of it and looked around for her.

“We’ll see about what we can do after we ensure the prince is stabilized.  I just don’t want to do anything before that, because we could end up losing both if we don’t focus on one at a time.”

“Then we’ll put this one on—” Verstael Besithia started, although he was interrupted by a guard—a new guard—standing outside the room they were in, when he leaned around and knocked on the entry’s frame.

“Sir, Argentum is here.”

Prompto pulled straight when he heard the sounds of people standing, and sure enough, he was soon confronted with both Metti and Besithia as they came out into the hall.  “What is _this_?” Besithia asked, looking honestly surprised.

“Sir, Commodore Highwind as asked that I be returned here, no longer wanting my services,” Prompto said, firm and obedient.

Besithia actually looked insulted at that, as he walked over and took Prompto by the chin.  “Did she say why?”

Prompto didn’t focus his eyes on his creator, even when he was held like that.  He kept focused on an invisible point in the air, as he was trained to do—sometimes violently—through the years.  It was a good thing, too, because he found himself conflicted.  He didn’t understand why.  He didn’t want to lie, but Aranea had been… kind to him during his stay.  He also didn’t want her to get into trouble for thinking the way she clearly was.

“She stated that she can’t have someone working under her who would allow one of the dogs to escape,” he ended up answering, the words sounding a hell of a lot more honest than they were.

“Bah, how are you supposed to do that when you’re elsewhere?” Besithia asked, rhetorically no less.  He looked to Metti.  “Take him to one of the new cells.  I might have a new assignment for him, anyway.  If not, I’ll speak with Highwind myself.”

“Right away, doctor.”  Metti reached out for Prompto, who stepped to her obediently.  Her hand rested on his shoulder as she started to guide him away from Besithia, who still seemed more bemused at the commodore’s reason for ousting him.  As long as he wasn’t angry…

Past his old cell, through a series of halls, and down a flight of stairs to the labs below, there were two modified cells, across the hall from one another.  Gone were the sterile whites and silvers, replaced with actual carpets, furniture, painted walls.  If not for the reinforced glass walls that slid to open on the side of the hall, they would be real bedrooms.

The room he was guided to hosted a variety of things relevant to him, from a workbench for his guns, to an actual gun safe, and a treadmill as he’d proven to be quite astute at running.  It was interesting, but what interested him more that it was different from the other room.  He was used to the cells down there matching point for point, but that one hosted books upon books, things for writing, and even a computer.

“Miss Metti, may I ask a question?”

“Of course, Prompto,” said his ever-patient caretaker, as she stepped out to close him inside.  “What is it?”

“Who uses that cell?” he asked, nodding to across the way.

She hummed as she looked at the cell briefly with sky blue eyes, and then returned her gaze to him.  “No one for right now.”  As the clear wall settled into place, her voice came up on a speaker overhead.  “Get some rest.  Become familiar with your room.  And make sure to check on your new bed.  I’ve left a gift for you.”

She smiled to him, and turned on her heel to take her leave.  Prompto watched her go with blank eyes, but so many questions in his mind that he knew there was no point even attempting to ask.  So he turned, and went over to the bed.

Just below the pillow was a tablet.  Three, large, encased memory cards for it, or even a camera, were tied to it with a black ribbon, crossed four ways.  While they were fastened to the front, against the screen, when he pulled the pulled the ribbon off, something fell from the back.  It was a note, folded with the words ‘EAT AFTER’ written on the outside.  Within, words that made the outer instructions make sense:

‘LEARN _EVERYTHING_ AND LEAVE NO TRACE’


	21. Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one. We won’t be seeing him for a while after this, so I wanted to give you all an idea of what’s going on.
> 
> I’ve said this elsewhere, but it’s my personal belief that Noctis’s time in the Crystal, in canon, was divided between dream events like the Choco-Mog Festival, and Bahamut.
> 
> And I swear, I'm getting to your awesome comments the moment this gets put up.

“Hey!  Hey, Noct!  You gotta get up, buddy!”

Cracking his eyes open, the bright light behind the beckoning individual caused a headache and a half.  Noctis slowly sat up and looked around in confusion to where he was, one eye shut tight due to the pain.  Where was he?  A tent?  How did that make sense?

Smiling brightly in front of him was the gunman.  What was his name again?  He certainly wasn’t the warmest individual normally, but he was smiling so much in that moment, and he looked so… natural like that.  It was weird, because of how solemn and… evil.  He was evil.  He killed Ignis.  _He killed his best friend._

“We’ve gotta get moving, that kill’s not gonna kill itself!”  He latched onto Noctis’s hand and went to drag him out of the tent.

No stranger to odd dreams, Noctis accepted the yanking.  Especially when he noticed his Carbuncle seated in the corner of the tent as he passed by.  It’d been way too long since he’d seen the little green creature, but he knew his Messenger of Children and Dreams wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t a safe place to be.  While he was no longer a child, he remembered the promise his father made, that night he gave him his little figurine; the night before Noctis fell into a coma.  He promised the Carbuncle would stay with Noctis, even as he passed into adulthood.  That was why his absence when the Empire took over broke his heart, with the pain only fading four or five years later.

Outside the tent, in the morning sun, Ignis and Gladiolus were convening by what appeared to be a portable kitchenette system.  The world around them was foreign to Noctis.  Wild, open, with no manmade structures to be seen, outside of some ruins in the far distance.  Where was that?

All of it—the scenery, Gladio, Ignis (especially Ignis)—possibly threw him more than the gunman treating him like an old friend.

Gladio somehow looked even bigger, and wore a larger smile than Noctis could ever remember him wearing.  Meanwhile, Ignis was… not only alive, but he looked so strong, poised, confident.  The clothing all three wore, it was something he hadn’t seen in a long time: Crownsguard fatigues.  A uniform that Noctis could remember instantly identifying as safe.  “Should there ever be danger, you run for a member of the Crownsguard.  They will keep you safe,” his father once told him.

Yeah, that worked out…

“I cannot fathom how you managed to convince a woman to go on a date when she knows fully well you’ll be leaving in a couple of days,” Ignis scoffed at Gladio as he worked on the grill of the kitchenette.

“Believe it or not, Iggy, there are some women out there who just want to have fun, too,” retorted Gladio.

“’Noncommittal’, more appropriately.”

“A rose by any other name, huh?”  Ignis snorted at that, and Gladio looked to Noctis.  “Hey, princess, you ready for some bacon and hunting?”

Noctis stared at him in confusion, with Gladio staring back at him to the point Ignis straightened and looked at Noctis as well.  “Seems to me he’s had another night of plentiful dreams,” he advised, pushing his glasses up his nose.  He straightened and walked over, giving Noctis a can he’d been drinking from.  “This should help.  Have a seat.  Breakfast will be finished soon.”

Baffled, the prince looked over the can.  It was an Ebony can.  He’d always wanted to try it as a kid, but wasn’t allowed because he was too young.  After, it was because the Empire didn’t really care about what he _wanted_.

He sat down as he took a drink from the can, and listened to the others talk in the meanwhile.

“Prompto, would you set out the flatware?”

“You got it, Iggy!”  The blond bounded over to the traveling kitchenette to grab four plates obediently and gleefully.

“So, what’s after this hunt, again?” Gladio asked as he moved around to get the silverware for their meal.

“We’ll return for our bounty, check in with Cindy to make certain the car is in ship shape, and then we’ll be off for Galdin Quay,” Ignis explained, working to set up plates of bacon, eggs, toast.  “We’ll not be back for some time, so it’s best to have the royal mechanics have a look-see one last time.”

Galdin Quay.  Noctis remembered that place.  Not only was it from where he and his father departed for Tenebrae for healing when he was eight, but Regis had departed from there to Accordo, once upon a time, long before he was a king, to broker peace with them, and to strengthen ties with Tenebrae.  Noctis had always hoped for the chance to one day travel like that, but… well…

“Man, Cindy’s great, isn’t she?” Prompto asked, swooning while he dropped into the seat next to Noctis.

“Yeah, but that girl is in love with cars, not guys,” Gladio remarked.

“Or girls, it would seem,” Ignis added, Gladio nodding and gesturing at Ignis in concession.

“I mean—I’m not trying to get anything out of her!” Prompto objected.  The way he looked, it was like someone threw the door open while he was changing his underwear.  Wide eyes, a faint blush, and a rigid, nervous posture.  Three things Noctis would’ve never associated with the gunman.

“Uh huh.  He always been that head over heels for girls, Noct?” Gladio asked, looking over.

“Uh…”  What did he reply with?  He felt so out of place, even if everything about it felt somehow… natural, too.  “I mean… yeah,” he ended up saying, his voice coming out hoarse.

“Nuh uh!” Prompto objected as Gladio laughed.

Ignis wasn’t laughing, however, his eyes fixed on Noctis.  “Are you getting sick?” he asked.

As he started approaching Noctis, Prompto laughed a bit.  “Uh oh, Mama Ignis is detecting a problem!  He’s honing in!”

“Ha ha, very funny, Prompto,” Ignis droned.  He rested his hand on Noctis’s forehead.  “You don’t appear to have a fever…”

“My throat’s just a little sore,” Noctis croaked out, rubbing at his neck and moving his eyes to the extinguished campfire in front of him.  Running with dreams, that was what the Carbuncle taught him.  He had such vivid ones that could’ve been real, but they weren’t lucid.  He could control himself, but not that which was around him.  If the dream was that his friends, plus the gunman, were in better days with him, then he would just have to play along.

“Well, either way, that voice isn’t gonna do well in battle,” Gladio commented, watching Noctis.  “Hard to shout for coordination if you can’t be heard.”

“Agreed,” Ignis recognized.  “But we still have to do that hunt.  Therefore, Noct’ll stay in the car whilst we do what we promised.”

Noctis frowned, but didn’t argue.  On some level, he felt he should.  It was like an instinct that was present but ignored.  His silence even seemed to cause the three concern, but… what was the point in talking?  He was confused, and it hurt to, anyway.  He glanced back at the tent, while the three started to eat once Noctis was handed his plate.

There, the Carbuncle sat, watching him with its ears drooping on each side of its face.

Noctis… really had missed the little thing.  He just didn’t want to knock the dream off course by standing up and going to him just yet.

The three ate breakfast, with him trailing behind, picking at his food.  Although they seemed consider him, they didn’t draw attention to him or his silence.  It gave him time to try to figure things out, and to get an idea of them.

“I can’t wait to get to Altissia,” Prompto said after swallowing some food.  “I wanna get pictures of the place for myself!”

“I imagine you’ll have quite the fun time seeking locations best suited,” Ignis acknowledged.  “Not to mention you’ll have a front row to the wedding.  Better than front row, if Noct has a chance to set an actual wedding party for us to be nearby.”

“Oh man, do you think I can take pictures of it?”

“I don’t see why not,” Gladio commented.  “Unless Lady Lunafreya decides she doesn’t want pictures.  Since it’s all propaganda on the Empire’s side, I can’t see them stopping it.”

“I still don’t get how this is supposed to help along the Ceasefire Agreement?” Prompto questioned.

“No doubt, because Tenebrae is part of the Empire, by marrying the Lady Lunafreya, it ties Lucis via its Crown Prince to the Empire as well,” Ignis said thoughtfully.

“Noct, I know your voice is hoarse and all, but you got more insight?” Gladio pressed.

When Noctis looked up at him, he saw a glimmer of concern.  Gladio as he knew him was a little more blatant in his visible concern for… everything, really.  It was so interesting to see him more poised.  Healthier.  Both him and Ignis were so healthy.

“That’s pretty much it,” he replied, before really realizing what he was saying.  How did he know to say that?  He wasn’t getting married to Luna.  She… “Though my dad sees it as if we can annex Tenebrae, it puts it under Lucii control and protection, and we could work on annexing Accordo next.”

“But is that really right?” Prompto asked, frowning.  “Doesn’t that make Lucis no better than the Empire?”

“It’d be temporary,” Noctis said, still baffling in his mind as his body and mouth seemed to go on auto-pilot, and he was suddenly a causal observer.  “If we ever got to that point, it’d last as long as it needed to in order to ensure Accordo was happy with its leadership, and to restore Ravus to the throne of Tenebrae.”

“One can only hope such a scheme would be possible,” Ignis said thoughtfully.

Noctis began to speak again, but that time, he had no control.  He was watching through his eyes, and then behind him, as he passively rattled on about the hidden agenda of Lucis and the possible hidden agenda of the Empire of Niflheim.  The way he spoke was so… knowledgeable and confident, and—

_[[It’s really weird, isn’t it?]]_

That was the message that came up on the smartphone gifted to him by Ardyn.  He pulled it out and spun, after reading its message, to the Carbuncle.  He realized he’d gone from his body, like a spirit lifting its vessel, but in that case, the vessel took on a new set of body language from his own.  Casual, yet guarded, but relaxed around his friends, it seemed.

“Where have you been?” he asked quietly, hoarsely, as his body continued talking in a way that he could never: with authority and casual egotism.

_[[I can’t get to you, Noct.  Well.  I can now, because of what’s really happened to you, but I wasn’t able to before.]]_

A small sob was choked back as Noctis dropped to his knees, his eyes becoming glassy.  “They… They killed Ignis.  _He_ killed Ignis,” he whispered, pointing at Prompto.  It made no sense as to why he would dream of that bastard being a friend of his.

_[[I know, Noct.  But it’s okay.  You and I are gonna spend time together learning things.]]_

“What?  Learning what?  How is any of this okay?” Noctis asked, desperate and sounding a bit hurt.  It was as if the Carbuncle didn’t care.  _Nothing_ was okay.  _Nothing_ was fine.  How could the Carbuncle say that, and worry about learning anything when so much was wrong in the waking world?  It wasn’t like when he was a child.  The world weighed heavily on his shoulders and, at that age, he could actually feel it.

 _[[Because this isn’t a dream, but a world where a different path was taken.]]_   Noctis stared at the Carbuncle in disbelief and in confusion, while it trotted by to the Noctis sitting by his… three friends?  _[[I know it’s hard to understand, but you remember all those shows you used to watch about different dimensions?  Well, this is another place and another time, in a dimension that started out just like yours.]]_

“…what… happened to make it so different?” Noctis asked hesitantly.  He stood as he did so, walking around for a better look at the other Noctis.  He was so… strong.  Healthy and intelligent.  Regal in his movements, but casual at the same time.  Like a young man trying to hide years of etiquette training, just in order to seem like everyone else.  “How could this be?  What about that one?”  He pointed at Prompto, who looked the same as he did as Noctis knew him, but wearing the proper attire of the Crownsguard fatigues, and so bright and jovial in his conduct.  It was hard to consolidate.

_[[The Empire never tried to take over Insomnia when you were so young.  Different decisions, made before you were born, made your dad stronger, even if he was burning his life faster.  They had to wait until you were twenty years old, and in a position to demand you get married to Lady Lunafreya, so you and your retainers would leave.  The Ceasefire Agreement that these four are talking about is a ruse.]]_

“And they don’t know yet?”  Sometimes, the Carbuncle was prophetic, though in strange ways most the time, so Noctis didn’t question his knowledge.  It might have been eight years since he last saw him, but Noctis remembered their dreamworld adventures so well.  Beyond all that, the Carbuncle was a Messenger.  Gentiana had been wise beyond a mortal’s knowledge, too, as he remembered it.  He wondered where she was, too…

_[[No.  Once they get to Galdin Quay and stay the night, Insomnia will fall, and his journey as the Chosen King, the King of Kings, will truly begin.]]_

“Oh…”  Noctis looked down at that.  He was the Chosen King, but that would never come to pass, he believed.  Not when held captive by the Empire.  Suppressed by the Empire.  Everyone involved knew what they were doing with oppressing Insomnia, Lucis, the _world_ like that, too.

_[[Prompto went to school with you.]]_

“Did he?” Noctis asked quietly, frowning.  “I…”

_[[He was a shy kid who didn’t have a very nice home life.  I won’t tell you everything, because I think you should ask him yourself one day.  But look at him.]]_

Noctis looked over at Prompto again.  At that point, he had his chair scooched over next to Noctis, so he could show him the screen of his admittedly really nice camera.  “See?!  I told you that the sign said chili!” he said, elbowing the other Noctis.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” that Noctis said, sounding quiet but amused.  “Man though, even that picture’s really good.”

“He _does_ have a splendid eye for color and perspective,” Ignis agreed.

“Aw, shucks, guys, you’re being way too nice!”

_[[That would’ve been him, you know.  Had he been given just a little more time.]]_

“How much time?”

_[[Five years.]]_

“Five years, and we would’ve been friends?”

_[[Kind of weird, huh?]]_

“…why are you showing this to me?” Noctis asked quietly, after a pause to watch the four.  They didn’t even seem aware of the fact that that Noctis was speaking normally again.  “I don’t understand.  This?  Will never happen.  I don’t see how it’s valid at all.

_[[While the path is different, the goal is the same.  You need to see the many ways to achieve your goal as the Chosen King.  And the many ways you can fail.]]_

Noctis frowned yet again.  “…what’s happening to my body that’s allowing you to get access to me?”

The Carbuncle scratched at its ear, as if it was contemplating and calculating its answer.  Finally, after a little grooming, it sent its response to his phone.  _[[They’re using your connection to the Crystal to power their defenses and offenses, and unwittingly giving you a chance to start gaining the power of the Crystal to a degree only the Chosen King can, Noct.  You’re going to be asleep for a while before you can overpower what they’re doing, so I need to teach you as much as I can before that happens.]]_

“Assuming they don’t realize,” was the whispered response.

The Carbuncle’s ears lowered again, as it tilted its head and watched the broken prince sadly.  Almost half his life was spent being shown his life wasn’t his own, and that the Empire would destroy him and his at every turn.  Sometimes just to cease what they were doing and put them back in their place, and sometimes outright killing them, like they did Ignis.  Like that _gunman_ , Prompto, did to Ignis.

After a long silence, while Noctis fidgeted with the phone and just stared at it, the Carbuncle messaged him once again.  _[[We’re still friends, right?]]_

“Of course we are,” Noctis replied, his eyes taking on a glassy quality once again as tears built up in his eyes.  “What’s a few years apart, right?”  As he asked that, he took a knee in front of the little animal, holding his free hand out to him.

The Carbuncle jumped up his arm, to his shoulders, wrapping its body and tail around his head.  It then nuzzled its head against Noctis’s cheek gratefully.

_[[Then please trust me, Noct.  You won’t regret it.]]_


	22. Finally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that I had said one thing, and then another, regarding what gets flashed back to here. Just look away, friends! Nothing to see here!

There was something to be said about the people of Hammerhead, and there was certainly the sense there that most the people in the wilds of Lucis were the same.  Even with the Empire looming ever overhead, and with the threat of Magitek forces being ordered to destroy them if they were found out to be harboring rebels, the people were… nice.

After some consideration later the same day that Gladio, Iris and Nyx arrived there, Cindy decided she wanted to modify the car they arrived in, and it was going to take a few days.  It left the three to meander around, and hope no one came looking for them.

Hammerhead itself was a humble place.  Old in its construction and its design, it looked like places seen in old movies back in Insomnia.  Even the way most the people dressed, and the cars they drove, it all looked like it was frozen in time by about forty years.  But they also had the hospitality of people back then.  When Gladio and Nyx offered to lend a hand at the diner on-site, the owner—a dark skinned man named Takka Bradham—he welcomed them after a frightful start to their addressing him.  Maintenance, cleaning, even helping with serving, anything and everything was up for offer.  He was never ungrateful, but never too grateful.  It was a relaxing sort of assistance.

“Anything about being an Amicitia prepare you for this sorta stuff?” Nyx asked at one point, after getting him and Gladio drinks.  Takka insisted they take a break after several hours of working around the diner.  The diner was closed for another thirty minutes, guests waiting around for it to open again for the latter half of the day, outside and with a patience never found in the Crown City.

“Yeah,” Gladio replied, much to Nyx’s surprise.

“Oh yeah?”

“I know that it would seem like we’re going to be stuck up and unaccustomed to anything specifically related to station,” Gladio elaborated.  “But even King Regis was fond of staying humble, about learning to do simple work.  It was something that prevailed over almost the whole court.”

“Huh.”  Nyx took a drink of the tea he had in hand, thinking.  “I always heard the prince had like fifty attendants when he was young.”

“He did.  But that didn’t mean he wasn’t learning how to clean toilets at the age of seven, or how to fill a dishwasher at eight.  The only reason he didn’t have to do those things anymore was because of the assassination attempt when he was eight.”

“I heard about that.  Don’t know details, though.  Just that somehow, the king had gotten there just in time, which was crazy, because didn’t that happen way out on the fringes of the Old Wall?”

“It was when the Wall extended out more, yeah.  This place would’ve still been covered,” Gladio confirmed.  Nyx had mentioned he was a refugee from Ghalad, years ago, so he didn’t begrudge the questions.  “Noct, his nanny, attendants and security detail when out to spend the day in the forest that used to stand between here and the last barrier gate out of the city.  Hiking, fishing, leaf rubbing, things kids enjoy.  The way my dad told it, Regis actually felt the Wall get punctured in the area close to Noctis’s location for his day out.  Noctis was being driven home, though, so it actually gave him and the Crownsguard more time to get there, but not before Noctis got hit.  Hard.”  He turned a bit to gestured at himself.  “His nanny covered him as they fled, but the daemon ran a sword through her, killing her.  Her body buffered the blow, but it hit right here, clipping the bottom of his left lung, narrowly missing his spine.  The force still stunned his spinal column, though.  That’s why his left leg’s fucked.”

“Aranea mentioned he has a bit of a limp.”

“Queen Sylva had helped heal him a good deal of the way, but never got to finish before the Empire attacked her palace, and Regis had to flee with Noctis because there were too many of them, and I guess Sylva was already dead.”

“Goddamn, man.”

“Yeah.  But then it fell to me and… and Ignis—”  He said the name after a cough into his hand.  Nyx didn’t call him out on it.  “—to work with him.  He had adults for everything else he had to learn, but Regis was adamant to keep with tradition in having older children meant to work closely with him for his whole life to train him in combat.  It teaches the Shield and Steward leadership skills, responsibility, and organization when it came to developing regimens for the heir.  Well, and spare if there is one.  It basically guarantees a tight bond of friendship, brotherhood.  Even if you can’t stand the little shits like I couldn’t with Noct until he was ten.”

“A Shield that can’t stand his future king?” Nyx reiterated, smirking.  “Yikes.”

“Yeah,” Gladio said as an agreement, snorting in his own, tired amusement.  “Anyway, what about you?  You’re in awfully good spirits for being where you’ve been.”

“That’s because we’ve had it pretty good the last few years.  Better than any of you,” the glaive pointed out.  “Aranea’s not happy with her empire.”

“I gathered, even if I don’t understand why.  From an Imperial’s perspective, everything’s great.”

“Believe it or not, not all Imperials think equally,” Nyx emphasized.  “How often did King Regis and his court make decisions that you heard rumblings of dissatisfaction over?”

“Right…” Gladio replied, thinking about that.

“The way she puts it?  Most Imperials don’t even know what Lucis and Tenebrae have been through.  They rehash footage from Accordo and a couple of other territories they took over that have a similar agreement, and just slap the names of Lucis and Tenebrae on them.  Those who do know the truth are usually the ones who move in to Tenebrae or Lucis, especially Insomnia, and see it for themselves.”

Gladio stayed silent at that one.  Not out of any hostility, but so he could think it over and hear Nyx out.

“I know you might think that this is some sort of sympathizer syndrome or something, but we’ve gotten to see the best and the worst.  There’s a reason most their military is based around Magitek, and the living soldiers are mostly like you and me: forced in or enslaved in.  Aranea has one of the last solely manned fleets in the entire Empire.”

“Really…” Gladio said thoughtfully.

Nyx was prepared to say more, but was interrupted before he could start when Cindy entered the diner, walking on up to them after waving and greeting Takka.  “Heya, darlin’s.  Got yer girl ready, but paw-paw wants to talk t’ya ‘fore you head on out,” she said.

“Great,” Nyx said as he and Gladio slid out of their booth.  They took their glasses off for the sinks in the back of the main diner area, Takka assuring them (after a jolt from his spacing out, no less) he’d handle cleaning them.

Out the three went, Cindy turning to walk backwards as she led the way, past the gas station and to her garage.  “I hooked ya up with some engine upgrades,” she explained.  “That ol’ clunker wasn’t gonna do much if’n ya get caught up in a daemon attack or dropship, so ya got nitro on it now.  Use it sparingly, ‘cause that stuff’s hard to come by!  I replaced yer headlights an’ brake lights.  Ain’t no Crown City brand lights, so try not ta drive at night if ya can help it.  Th’ tires were a li’l worn so got ‘em rotated for ya.  They’re maybe a year old, so replacin’ right now ain’t necessary.  Did other small things, too, t’make sure y’all’ll be fine in them western rains.”

“We owe you one,” Gladio replied to all that.  “We don’t have a lot of money, however.”

“Y’all just get to th’ marshal, an’ I think we all can agree that’s enough~” she said with a playful bounce to her voice.  By that point, they reached the garage, where the car was parked and waiting for them just outside.  “Now, paw-paw’s in the garage.  I’mma run a few last minute checks while y’all have a chat.”

“Thanks again,” Nyx emphasized as Gladio took the lead in to Cid.

The old man was seated at a work bench, toiling away on some sort of car part.  Even though he was hunchbacked, no doubt from years of mechanic work, one had to admire that he was still trucking along.  Even after they greeted him, he worked in silence, until he reached an apparent end point, at which point he turned to the two.

“Leave th’ li’l one here,” he said, point blank.  Gladio went wide-eyed, but before he could object, Cid held up a wrench-clutching hand.  “’fore y’object, it ain’t an easy road, gettin’ to Maldacio.  Any time y’all pitstop, or pull over fer a switch in drivers, ya run th’ risk of gettin’ attacked.  Unless yer gonna tell me she’s got combat experience, yer gonna need ta leave ‘er here, or I’m not lettin’ ya have th’ car.”

“That’s my _sister_.”

“An’ I understand that.  Ain’t no one gonna mess with ‘er here,” Cid assured.  “If’n they come here lookin’, we’ll keep ‘er hidden, s’long as she cooperates.”  He looked Gladio in the eyes.  “I ain’t gonna let Clarus’s little girl get hurt.”

Gladio hesitated and looked at Nyx, who nodded to Cid.  “We’ll leave her, sir.”  He looked to Gladio next.  “What do we do if we get a couple of red giants attacking the car?”

A sigh of relenting finally escaped Gladio and he nodded.  “I need to talk to her, first.”

“By all means,” Cid said, waving them along and turning back to his workbench.  “An’ safe travels when y’all head off, boys.”

*****

Iris accepted the news a lot better than Gladio would have thought.

She was out on the walkway of the small apartment building set behind the garage and gas station, seated under an umbrella set up there, when Gladio approached to tell her Cid’s stipulation.

“I can stay,” she said with an earnest nod.  “I like it here.”

“You’ll want to help out at least around the diner with Takka,” Gladio advised.  He sat back in the chair beside her, gazing out at the desolate areas that surrounded that hub of a locale.  “Don’t just sit up here.  If you don’t want to do that, go talk with Cindy and see what she can use help with.  She might even teach you a few things about cars, and that could be really handy.”

“I do like engineering stuff,” Iris admitted.

“Just be good and do your best while you stay here.  If suddenly Takka, Cid or Cindy are telling you to hide, you need to listen to them and go where they tell you to.  There’s a huge chance Imperials will come looking for us once I turn up AWOL and you go absent from school, and they know what you look like.  It doesn’t matter if it’s Loqi, even, you need to stay hidden.  Even if you hear violence, you need to stay out of sight.”

Iris nodded, although she also frowned.  “Loqi’s always been so nice to me, though.”

“I know he has.  But his loyalty is to the Empire first and foremost.  If he’s told to bring you back, or to kill you, he will do so,” her brother emphasized.

“I won’t come out of hiding, Gladdy, I’m just saying.”

“Right.  I just don’t want something to happen to you.”  He sighed and stood, leaning over to kiss the top of Iris’s head.  “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Okay, Gladdy.”

After a pat of her head, Gladio headed on back for the car, where Nyx was seated in the driver’s seat patiently.  “You ready, Amicitia?” the glaive called out when he noticed.

While waving to Cindy, Gladio replied, “Yeah.  We’re good.”  He went around and dropped into the car.  “So, a couple days of nonstop if we play our cards right?”

“If the weather’s on our side, and we can escape any daemons or Imperials that might land in our path, yeah.”

With that assurance, Gladio rested back in his seat and nodded, effectively starting their little road trip.

*****

Well, big road trip.

Gladio understood what ‘a couple of days nonstop’ meant, but actually experiencing it was something altogether different.  Everything was so big, vast, empty, outside of the occasional cars, the wildlife and cruising dropships above.  The only times they stopped were when they passed a gas station, of which there were few, and when the driver was getting tired, and needed to switch with the other.  They were able to dodge daemons at night, thanks to the nitro upgrade.  Something both men were glad about, since they didn’t really have weapons.  They should’ve asked Cindy for a hand in getting some, they realized too little, too late.

“It’s real strange, seeing this firsthand,” Gladio said as he helmed the vehicle on that second day.

“Imagine if you’d never seen a daemon before, like would’ve been in the time of Regis.  Not that this life’s preferable, but at least you know what to expect,” Nyx pointed out, eyes fixated on a map they found in the glove compartment, courtesy of Cindy.

“True, but they started training me about them when I was pretty young.”

“Working knowledge and actual experience are two different things.”

“True again.”

“Now, according to the map, we should be coming up on what looks like a tunnel.  But Cindy marked it as Maldacio, which seems about right.  I don’t remember where it was according to the map Aranea had, specifically, but I know it was somewhere in this area.”

“…what, were you gonna have to get sicced on _hunters_?”

“That’s who we’ve been forced to go after all along, kiddo,” Nyx sighed.  “At least with Aranea, she puts her two best guys in charge of our ships, and one goes out in casual dress to the known locations to tell them what we’re there for, so we can arrange a scenario with them to fake the murder of them.”

“Holy shit…  you know the background with them, don’t you?”  He glanced over to see a short shake of Nyx’s head.  “They’re former Crownsguard.”

“…really?”

“Yeah, at least, the more tenured ones.  When King Regis had to start scaling back the Wall, the Crownsguard opted to stay out in the wilds to protect the people there, and became just known as hunters.  Probably because it allowed them to be less obvious to the Empire.  It’s also why Regis created the Kingsglaive, because that cut down the numbers of the Crownsguard by a lot.  So, he created the Kingsglaive to serve as the mobile war units, and the Crownsguard as the local forces.”

“No wonder Commodore Tummelt wants them cleared out so b—”

That word didn’t finish, as suddenly the car and their world stopped for a startling set of moments.

From the darkening sky, some sort of massive rock slammed into the road immediately in front, with no time to pull to the side before the car was slamming into it.  At the speed Gladio was going, the impact sent them both forward, bruising their bodies against their seatbelts and causing the car to buck up like a fierce spiracorn.  And when it dropped back down, they were thrown back in their seats once again.

“Goddammit!” Nyx snapped.

“What _is_ that?” Gladio asked.  Although his vision was blurry from whiplash, he stared out at the massive thing the car collided into, confused.

“About a year ago, the Red Giants started exhibiting learned behavior in how to stop cars,” Nyx rattled off quickly.  “They jump in the way in massive fucking balls.”

As he said that, the boulder-like object began to shift and bubble, an arm bigger than both Gladio and Nyx springing out and slapping against the ground.  That impact shook the car as well.  It was enough to shake Gladio out of gawking, and start attempting to pull the car into reverse.  That proved in vain when the second arm shot out, into the hood, and cinched onto the metal there, fingers digging into the metal.

“Oh, this is bad.  We need to get out,” Nyx ordered.  He threw off his seatbelt, as did Gladio, the car tremoring around them when the giant—which had clearly caught a part of the engine in its grasp, since the hood hadn’t just snapped off—lifted the entire car off the ground.

They never had a chance to abandon ship, as an explosion ripped through the night air to their left, its contact point the arm holding the car.  For as loud as it was, the actual impact was slight.  Oh, it still blew out the windshield, cutting at Nyx and Gladio, both of whom just barely managed to protect their eyes, but since the car dropped to the ground and didn’t immediately explode, it was safe for them to assume that it was a deliberately created projectile, meant for closer contact with daemons.

Gladio lowered his arms, crossed over his face as they were, and was distracted from looking for what that was.  The reason came in the form of two massive hooks shooting just over its shoulders, then pulling taut like fishing hooks.  The force behind the pull was enough to dig into the unfeeling creature’s shoulders on its front side, and then it was dragging backwards.  It tried to fight, its feet grinding on the street pavement with an ear bleedingly terrible sound.

With enough distance away, the two men could finally get an idea of what was going on.  They were closer to the cave that Nyx said to look out for, and there was some sort of pulley system up top, made of massive cables, like what suspended many older bridges in Insomnia, and industrial grade metals.  Two human figures stood up top, their silhouettes only visible behind the flashlights on their chests due to the touch of light still in the sky from the setting sun.

“I’ll be damned,” Nyx marveled in surprise.  He absent-mindedly plucked some glass from his arms.  “Good damn thing that happened right here.”

Gladio didn’t get a chance to react, his door bursting open with a horrendous screech, indicating the frame had been bent to all hell.

He looked to the one who did it, and found himself peering at the face they came to look for, and the face he never imagined seeing again after the attack so long ago.

“Marshal Leonis,” he said, stunned.

“…well, aren’t you the spitting image of Clarus,” the older man said, looking Gladio’s face over, as if studying every little detail offered.  He straightened and offered a hand out to Gladio; his other was tightly clutched around a sheathed katana.  “I’ll have someone bring a tow over to get this out of the road.  Come on.  We need to get into the light.”

*****

It was so surreal, walking and talking with Cor Leonis.  Gladio couldn’t even say where they were or what the caved locale looked like, he was so stunned and fixated on Cor.  For even him, it had been so long since seeing an adult face that he knew as a friend, as someone to trust, to hold as a mentor.  Gladio had deeply respected Cor, as both the marshal, and a former retainer to King Regis.  He was a model for everything Gladio wanted to be, along with Clarus himself.

Finally, the three were seated in front of a small shop of some sort, and Cor was saying, “I’m sure you have questions, Gladiolus.”

“I… don’t know,” was Gladio’s response.  He felt dazed.  “I know why you never came back, so I’m not… angry or anything.”

“You’d be justified if you were.”

“I can’t be,” the younger man insisted.  “I’m mad at the Empire.  They’ve… gone farther.”

“How so?”

“They did something last night,” Gladio explained.  “I don’t fully understand it, but Ardyn Izunia implied that Noctis would be used to not only raise Insomnia’s Wall again, but raise one over other locations, like Gralea.”

Cor’s eyes darkened, even if the rest of his expression remained unchanged.  “That will kill him sooner rather than later.”

“I heard the Crystal had a habit of shortening the King’s life, and… hn.  Ignis tried to stand up to them, for the first time ever, and got a bullet to the back of the skull.”

Cor shook his head and snorted quietly, looking to the side.  Gladio didn’t resent him, and let him have the silence that followed.  Even Cor the Immortal wouldn’t have been able to fight back in to the Citadel by himself, or with a pack of hunters, even.

“May I ask something, sir?” Nyx asked after a few silent moments.  Cor nodded and Nyx leaned forward.  “How did you survive that day?  Everyone heard what happened.  The Empire had been so proud that they made ‘the Immortal meet his mortality’.  They even have a day of celebration.”  Gladio nodded in confirmation.

“Wow, I’m touched,” the marshal said dryly.  He leaned back to rest better in his seat.  “It’s a fair question, though.  I’ll answer, on one condition.”  The two seemed receptive in their nods and questioning expressions, and Cor pointed past both of them.  “You let her take a look at the two of you.”

They turned to look at who he was referring.  She was a young woman, with dark brown—nearly black—hair and poignant green eyes, and she had a medical satchel hanging on her, across her chest.  She was definitely the sort of young woman Gladio would have normally hit on if he was in the mood.  Pretty, smart enough to clearly be a medic, and by the sidearms on her, capable of defending herself.

“This is Trina.”

“We’re honestly fine,” Gladio protested, not wanting to waste the young lady’s time.

“You were both in a car that got rattled like a jar of coins.  If you’re fine, you’re fine, but let her make that determination,” Cor said firmly.  “Otherwise, I won’t answer Nyx’s question.”

The younger men finally relented, turning back to him.  Trina moved to Gladio first, asking, “You were the driver during the attack, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a faint smile to her.

“Then I’ll check you over, first.  You probably hit the steering wheel and didn’t even realize it.  Not to mention the glass in your arms.”

Gladio nodded and scooched out a bit in his seat, admittedly hurting a bit, but stifling a wince.

“Alright, we’ve agreed,” Nyx insisted, looking at Cor.  “Your turn.  How?”

“Right.”  Cor settled back in his seat.  “Let’s get this over with.”

***** **** *** ** * ** *** **** *****

The biggest mistake had been bringing civilians into the Citadel for cover.  The orders from Regis were solid in intention, but when the attack on Insomnia finally reached there, it was absolute chaos, even before the Empire breached the outer gates, not to mention when they finally cracked the reinforced walls of the Citadel proper.

It came to a point that protecting everyone was no longer viable.  “Get all exits open!” Cor shouted.  The invaders were already in the Citadel.  Now, they needed to get civilians back out.  “Tell them to evacuate!”

“Marshal!”  Cor turned at the call, as he slapped the elevator call button.  It was none other than Monica Elshett, skidding into the elevator all.  Although her left arm had severe burns over it, which crept up over her neck and onto her cheek, she was moving as though nothing had happened.  She must have been caught in one of the initial explosions to break the Citadel walls.  “Reports are coming in that the gates are already under hold by Imperials!”

“Goddamn it,” Cor seethed.  He held his hand out for the ornate bottle of a potion to appear in his grasp.  “Find the Kingsglaive.  Get them out to the gates, and continue with the civilian orders to get everyone out in evacuations.”

“Sir,” Monica replied in agreement.

They parted with Cor tossing the potion against her back, the frail container shattering and covering her in green sparkles that flared bright and faded within seconds.  It wouldn’t completely heal those wounds, but it would stop any excessive bleeding and relieve the pain.

The elevator opened, and Cor did two very specific things:  He first struck the button for the throne room’s level, and then he thrust the hilt of his katana up and into the service door in the ceiling.  It flipped open as the elevator doors shut, and he jumped up for the opening, to hoist on top of the car and close the opening once more.  Though not all the way, leaving one finger in between it and its frame, so he could watch below as the car ascended.  No one evacuating from higher levels would be using the elevators.  Only personnel on either side needing to ascend quickly would be going via elevator and not stairs.  He wouldn’t be caught in that small space, with the elevator opening to a bunch of Imperials.

As the elevator ascended, since Cor couldn’t see the floor counter, he started to count in his mind.  Ground floor, floor one, floor two, three, four…

When he reached the throne’s floor, he crouched low to get a better view as the doors opened.  There was a fight in the elevator hall, but no one entering the elevator.  He made it quick to the elevator car proper and slapped the Open Doors button as they had started to slide shut again.

Several Crownsguard and Kingsglaive were trying to push back Imperials that had blow the wall opposite of where Cor needed to go, a dropship hovering outside, and a ramp leading in from it.

“We’ve got things here, Marshal!” one of the Crownsguard hollered as a glaive warped over his shoulder, and into two Imperials.  “Something’s happening in the throne room!”

Cor didn’t even think to shout them down, asking _why_ no one had seen what was ‘happening in the throne room’, because it wasn’t as though they were slacking in their duties.  They were doing their best, and as he charged forward, he could see some of the guards and glaives attempted to get there, but Imperials had taken them out with guns and those disgusting magitek troopers.

He slid on the floor when several noticed him and started firing, weaving right and behind a half-wall, a divider between the main area there and artwork on the wall.  Undeterred and unwilling to stop there to fight, he stayed down as he ran for the doors just several yards away at that point.  Two flesh and blood soldiers slid in the way just as he was about to make it, and he snapped out his katana from its sheath.

First swinging in with his left hand, he used the sheath to slam into the gun of one, making his aim jerk to the other, and the awkward and lightning fast motion causing the soldier to accidentally unload on his comrade.  Without caring, but noticing how stunned the man was, Cor slammed his blade through the man’s neck, and dragged him with as dying human shield.  He used the sheath, around and pressed against the soldier’s faceplate, to keep him from falling and slipping off the blade.

Only when he reached the doors did he free his weapon and slam inside backwards, likely bruising his back as he did so.  He promptly kicked the doors shut, and slammed his sheath into the handles to seal it that way.

The scene within that room took mere seconds to dismantle, but those were seconds Cor would admonish himself for years to come for spending.

A massive hulk of a man, standing tall and dark in a near medieval style of heavy armor, stood amidst the bodies of many council members, and Clarus Amicitia.  Up on the throne, King Regis was finishing ushering Prince Noctis behind the throne.  There was a small, barely visible gap there that Regis had carved out after the boy’s birth, to serve as a small shield behind the throne, and under the Crystal, should something like that day come to pass.

“It’s awfully small,” Cor remembered pointing out.

“Once he’s outgrown it, he’ll be old enough to be capable of defending himself properly.  Please, Cor, let this old man have his paranoia.”

“…right,” Cor had replied, more than a little amused.

It had actually come in handy that day, however.  The prince had already been through more death than any child should have, both through his own near-death, and through the slaughter of so many people protecting him when he was eight.  It was a shame to see that.

Meanwhile, Regis was throwing everything he had at the man in armor.  All his weapons within the armiger, magical spells, everything.  While the blows connected, and physical pain was expressed, he kept charging in and fighting back against the near impossible barrage from Regis.  The sparks alone, of his sword slamming against all of Regis’s broad personal armory, lit up the darkest corners of the throne room.  That wasn’t speaking of the magic they were wielding.

Cor grasped his katana in both hands, and started to run in for the man in armor.

In that moment, Regis saw him and threw up a shield around himself.  “Get my son out of here, Cor!” he shouted, ordered, of the younger man.  When he saw an argument cropping up on the stilled marshal’s face, Regis reiterated with, “He’s the only thing that matters now!  Go!”

A short nod following a deep breath, and Cor was darting for the left staircase, up for the throne.  The right was covered in bodies, and even jumping one would just land him on top of another.

He fled for the stairs, up the stairs, as the entire room began to super charge.  It was the sort of feeling one might hear others speaking of when in the eye of a tornado or hurricane.  For Cor, he recognized it was a thundaga spell incoming.

He got up to the top of the main flight of stairs when something happened.  Something he didn’t see, but something that was both the fault of Regis and the man in armor.

What followed was an explosion that cut into Cor’s vision, breaking apart his eye contact with the scared child hiding behind the throne.  His vision was white, and after a force he simply couldn’t fight slammed into his right side, he hit something.  Something that gave way, and then he was floating.

Later, he would realize he saw what that floating was on a subconscious level, but that wouldn’t be for several years.

He he did remember, he realized he’d been thrown from the sheer force of impact of that explosion, right into the windows on the left of the throne.  The windows shattered under the force as well, added to by his body, and he began to plummet sixty floors, straight for a ground that was masked in smoke from burning vehicles and bodies.

That day, he perceived it as floating, flying, through a white void, and listening to distant sounds of disaster before losing all sense of consciousness.

In reality, he watched the Citadel’s floor race past him as he fell, going right towards a massive pile of bodies of deceased Lucians, waiting to be burned.  The fight had been raging for an hour as they fought the breach of the Citadel proper, and he’d watched with no shortage of ire as magitek troopers dragged bodies in from the surrounding areas, to those piles, as an omen of what they were planning for the people within.  There were even more to be found by the bridge in, resting down underneath where guests were normally guided for large events involving the outdoors.

Cor was ready for death.  He wished he could have gone out at his old friend’s side, as Clarus had, but he had a duty to uphold.

As if the Astrals, for once in their many centuries of life, had actually heard his wishes, a burst of cold broke out around him as his descent seemed to slow, as if some sort of cushion of snow engulfed his body.  When his senses came back to him, he was laying at the edge of one of the closest piles, face down.  He wasn’t out for long, and he could tell that because he could still hear fighting going on within the building.

Forcing his right eye to open with his left, drying blood over it acting like adhesive, he started to try to push to his feet, intending to run back into the Citadel.

The only thing that stopped him was the woman in black and white before him, eyes closed and with a serene smile.  He recognized her.  She was one of the Oracle’s Messengers.  High Messenger, if he remembered right.  Thoughts were running slow for him.

“Immortal Marshal, do not sign your death warrant this day,” she said gently.  Her voice was so soft, and yet he heard it perfectly over the death and violence around him in that moment.

“But the prince—the king—”

“The King is dead, long live the King of Kings.”

That response made Cor’s blood run cold.  So, Regis was dead… but Noctis wasn’t.  Why hadn’t they killed him?

As if she read his thoughts as clear as if he’d spoken them, the Messenger spoke once more.  “Today, this day, is the time for you to flee.  Insomnia has fallen, but the young King will one day need his Immortal Marshal again.  If you do not leave, then the years of torment in store for him will never cease until his.”

“But…”  Cor wanted to object.  He did.  But in reality, his weapon was gone, the king was dead, the bodies were growing in number, and his vision was blurry from the bloody injuries on his body and head.  “…how long?”

“The Immortal Marshal will know when that day comes,” she promised.  “In days to follow, the Immortal Marshal will find it hard to live with himself, believing himself a coward, feeling his actions unconscionable.  However, beyond Insomnia awaits an army for you to command, to one day right what is wrong.  What was is what was, and what is now is what is now.  Look to the future, good Marshal.  Live to fight another day.”

The world was rocking, both from his injuries and his emotions.  Abandoning his post seemed wrong, but if it was true, what she was saying… there would be no way for him to get to Noctis like that.

“I don’t know if I can make it out…”

“Have faith,” the High Messenger assured.  She bent down at the waist, holding her hand out for him to take.  When he did, he intended to heft himself up without relying on her, but underestimated her strength when she straightened and easily pulled him to his feet.  “Have faith and go.  Go now, Immortal Marshal, good Marshal, your day will come.”

He didn’t even really register what was happening after that.  There were shards of memories that broke through the haze, of him walking, of soldiers who should have seen him not, of him struggling to help others out from under debris, from where they hid in nooks and crannies along the way, to the smell of death and burning flesh rich in the air.

***** **** *** ** * ** *** **** *****

“When my memories started with any real consistency, I was at Hammerhead.  Old Cid was there and waiting for me to act as though I had some sense so he could balk at the fact that I allowed something to get the jump on me.  I expected him to berate me for leaving,” Cor explained.

By that time, Trina was gone.  The younger men were to rest for a couple of days, and visit her twice a day for bandage replacements for the glass injuries.  She gave them a full stash of potions to work with, too.  They were hardy young men, so they’d be fine.

“I don’t think Noct will hold this against you,” Gladio said, looking down.  “When he finds out.  If he finds out.”

“…what is he like?”

“He doesn’t talk.”  Gladio lifted his eyes to look at Cor once more.  “He stopped speaking the day of the attack.  First time we heard him speak was last night, because he was screaming in pain and trying to get to Ignis’s body.”

“Damn it,” Cor seethed.  “Well.  I’m going to take this as what Gentiana was talking about this day.  As my sign it’s time.”  Nyx and Gladio both raised their eyebrows at that, surprised.  “I have that army.  We just need to figure out how to use it right.  And see if we can’t reunite with the Crystal’s powers since Noctis is connected to it again.”

“You don’t think we’ll need to do another rite?” Nyx asked, frowning.

“I don’t know.  I’ll see what I can find out.  We need to get to him, and to Lady Lunafreya.  It’s absolutely disgusting what’s happened to her.”

“Yeah,” Gladio said with a nod.

“Agreed,” Nyx affirmed, too.  “How can the two of us help?”

“Follow Trina’s orders.”  Cor stood, and pulled a radio from his belt.  He’d had it off for the duration of their discussion, and turned it on then.  “Get better, get rest, and then we’ll start talking about what you can do.”

He didn’t wait for their response as he moved on, heading further into that under-mountain passage.  His radio squeaked as he pushed the call button.  “Dave, we need to talk.  Repeat, Dave, get home.  We need to talk.”

A new voice came up on the radio.  By the sound of the frequency crackling, he must have been some distance away.  “What’s going on?”

“Keyword Light.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.  Acknowledged, on my way.”

Once Gladio was issued a bed in one of the trailers stationed in that tunnel, he found himself falling asleep immediately, all his muscles relaxing into the soft pillow and firm mattress.

It was the first time in years that he was going to wake up and actually feel as if he’d gotten a full night of good, hardy sleep.

Maybe things would finally get better.


	23. Foundation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular one is for dear RikkuShinra, who has been so invested and is wanting to see more Loqi. This isn’t exactly what you asked for, hon, but it IS entirely Loqi-centric.
> 
> It’s a bit scattered because I kept having to break from writing entirely for IRL things, so I apologize for that.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Subject of trauma based of visual experience (the Major Character Death), discussion of Luna’s situation, discussion of others who have fallen into unsavory positions under the Empire while they were children. There is nothing too graphic being described here. It’s more a case of your imagination might do more than what is actually written.
> 
> Also warning: Aforementioned scattering. I tried to go back over the whole thing, but then stream-of-consciousness’d it because Loqi is having a crisis.

Growing up, Loqi Tummelt had the privilege of class, wealth and opportunity.

His parents were longstanding nobles of Niflheim, with both sides of his family long-dedicated to the military.  It afforded him the best education, and the best tutors in military skills.  He was among the youngest to graduate from the officers’ academy, and the youngest to reach the rank of commandant at seventeen years old.  A year later, his high accolades and successes in squashing rebellions from nearby annexed territories won him a position with the emperor himself, over in Insomnia.

He had just turned eleven when Lucis fell entirely to the Empire’s control, so a good portion of his life was spent with the knowledge that he was a part of the single strongest kingdom to ever exist in the known history of Eos.  To be stationed in Insomnia with the emperor was an honor he’d hoped he would have the chance to receive.

And oh, was Insomnia glorious when he finally laid eyes on it.  Granted, there were some places still suffering from the attack years ago, clearly with no intention on the Empire’s behalf to repair it, and he did wonder from time to time what the place looked like in the prime of its original owners, but it was no wonder—even as it was—why the emperor chose to live there for most the year.

As part of his duties, he was charged with keeping order within the city’s walls.  That was an easy task, when it came to the people.  They had it long beaten into them that this was their life.  They could either be subjects to the Empire, or slaves and sacrifices to it.  Most those who chose the latter were already handled by the time he arrived.  The only complications in the city happened to be the daemons.  Since King Regis powered the shield that kept the daemons out, with his death, so too did the shield wither and fade.  Loqi had long wondered what it looked like in real life, and not just in pictures and videos.

All in all, his military career was a vicious one, but comfortable.  He laid out orders, and they were obeyed.  When Aranea was given most of the manned units, and he was given more Magitek Infantry than humans, Loqi didn’t complain.  There was still room for error within the human conscience, while machines obeyed without question.

Machines listened, and Magitek was capable of ‘devious adaptation’, as that annoying older man that made them said.  Verstael Besithia.  He was obnoxious, but his work was impeccable.  Loqi had to deal with him more often than he would have liked, simply because of his command over 90% Magitek soldiers.  His only consolation was that most of their meetings included High Commander Ravus Nox Fleuret, who had a sharp tongue and little patience.  Loqi never had to demand Besithia move along, as Ravus was happy to do it himself.  As both the High Commander, and the brother of the wife of the emperor and mother of the heir, Besithia had no choice but to oblige.

So, even that was easy.

And left Loqi with very little exposure to violence that wasn’t carried out from a distance, or at least behind a panel of his mech that he would use on occasion.  At least, violence involving humans.

It left the night that the prince was taken hold of to power the newly restored shields, and the murdered steward, fresh on his mind.  The feeling he had as he ascended for his floor afterward, staring at the gore that had covered him when the gunman’s bullet broke through the steward’s skull, remained.

He couldn’t describe it as ‘sorrow’.  He had no connection to Ignis Scientia, and he and the prince never got along.  Still, he felt something in his chest as he stared down at himself.  Something he had no name for; no single word with which to describe it.  It was as though something had changed at the very base of everything as he understood it.  A shattering of some sort of invisible barrier he hadn’t realized was there, and things were never going to be the same again.  It was a hole he couldn’t find his way out of.  One that he didn’t like being in, that was coring through his mind and his heart, through to his stomach, and…

When he stepped off the elevator, he decided he needed to forget for a little while.  That was why, when he arrived at his personal quarters, he sent a message down for floor B2, and went to take a shower.

While the shower was nice, and a welcome end to a long day and night, he found himself doing as he did in the elevator: watching down as the gore that hit his face and hair slid down his body and into the drain as he worked to clean up.  It was a bit of a dazed shower, his mind inexplicably repeating the moment that the blond pulled his trigger to the back of the steward’s head.

He lacked the insight and the education to realize he was having something akin to post-traumatic stress.  If someone told him as much, he would have balked at the idea of it.  Why?  Why would he have any sort of trauma pertaining to Scientia?  To the death of a Lucian too frail and insignificant?

The completion of his shower was more of a blur than the shower itself, as was his getting dressed for bed.  There wouldn’t be a lot of time for sleep.  It was already four in the morning, and he’d need to be up at eight to prepare for a meeting at nine.

Just as he was about to crawl into bed, to do his best to push the repeating thoughts in his mind away, a knock on his door reminded him of the message that he sent when he first got there.

On the day of the takeover, there had been many members of the court that lived within the massive Citadel, always on call.  Many of their suites had become suites for officers like himself.  Because those officials lived there, so too did their families.  While they were murdered with their partners, and all adult children, the emperor found it a waste to have such educated children perish.  The youngest were allowed to thrive as Iris Amicitia did, being placed in the homes of his court officials.  Those of the upper age range were mostly pawned off for marriage, with Gladiolus being the only exception as the emperor sought to break him through the military, as another demoralizing move against Prince Noctis.  Against the boy deemed the Chosen King spoken about in the writings from the gods, in order to still him from ever even thinking of moving towards prophecy.

But those in between, those who were eight to eleven, they had a different story.  One given to the youngest children of deceased attendants and housekeepers of the Citadel, who were still more educated in their few years than the average child around the city.

Male and female alike, they were raised to play escort, companion and lover to whomever called.

On-call, in-house prostitutes.

Loqi had never called for one before, and he couldn’t say what possessed him to do so then.  He’d forgotten about the damn order over the course of less than an hour, for God’s sake.

Regardless, he flung open the door to see who they sent.  She didn’t even flinch at the way the door hit the wall beside him from his irritated force.  Well-trained, it seemed she was.

She wore the typical white for her sort: a white satin slip of a dress, the sheen of the material giving the white a silver quality.  Both the male and female members of that group wore that fabric in some way, be it dresses, shirts, pants or otherwise.  It was a way to identify them without marking them.  The emperor wasn’t fond of branding that Loqi had ever seen, and he was sort of thankful for that.  As lowly as he felt Lucians were to the children of Niflheim, there was something primal about marking a person against their will like barcoding furniture.  He felt that would have been beneath them.

So, there she was, in that silver-white slip dress, with olive colored skin and long, thick black hair, perfectly made up with large and soft curls framing her figure, and gold-brown eyes watching him.  It never ceased to amaze him how multi-cultural Insomnia was.  She most definitely wasn’t native by ethnicity.

As she started to bow, Loqi snorted and turned away, but left the door open for her to enter.  He wasn’t sure if she completed her bow anyway, but she was following him within a second, closing and securing his door as she went.

“How may I serve you?” she asked as she followed him.  He turned slightly to look at her as he walked, noting how everything about her exuded sexuality, and her smile was bright and flirtatious.  “Are you seeking company, a confidant, or a partner?”

Loqi clucked his tongue and went for his dry sink in the main room of his quarters.  He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he wouldn’t have some Lucian mocking him for that.

“Just a warm body, then?” she pressed, although her tone was light and inoffensive.  “Someone to share the shadows with?”

“Don’t speak as though you know me.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” she relented, bowing to him once more.  “I simply know the list of reasons a soldier makes his first call.”

“And what if I told you that I simply wanted someone to hurt?” he sneered as he poured himself a glass of some unmarked bottle given to him as a joke from Aranea.  He’d had it tested for poison.

“Then I would ask if you prefer me clothed or nude,” was the… rather disarming response.

Loqi turned with his glass and looked at her.  He wanted to lash out at her, to throw his glass and scream at her, but something stopped him, and for once, he was glad.  As he watched the smiling, admittedly very beautiful young lady, he noticed something very inconsistent with her.  Her eyes were… vacant.  Lacking any connection to the situation at hand.  Soulless.  It was like looking at that blasted prince’s eyes when he wasn’t lashing out and throwing things at him.

What had even possessed him to call for someone like her?

…was fate trying to push him?  That made him angry, too.

“Tell me:  Are you a human?”

“I’m whatever you ask of me,” she replied.

It took an impressive amount of effort, that was impressive on its own for him to exert for a _Lucian_ , to not scream at her.  He took several breaths and demanded, “What’s your name?”

The dark haired young lady tilted her head at the question, staring at him as her smile faltered.  “…Saga.”

“And what did your parents do, Saga?” Loqi pressed.  Saga hesitated, and Loqi sighed.  “I’m not going to punish you for honest answers.”

She chewed on her lower lip briefly, and it seemed her flirtatious facade was falling away to a more… real personality, though Loqi would be the first to admit he was hardly the expert of such things.  “My mother was an attendant to the prince,” she answered, taking a slow step back.  “My father was Crownsguard.”

“You fear retaliation of that more than you fear general abuse?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as she stepped back.

“Forgive me, I don’t mean to leave an impression that I’m here for anything but your desires,” she replied quickly, bowing to him again.

Just a few hours ago, he thought nothing of the children of the workers within the Citadel.  They were nonexistent, as far as he was concerned.  An hour ago, he called for one without understanding why he did so.  And right then, he was… what, empathizing?  She was _Lucian_ , but…

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“What were your aspirations before?”

“I was hoping to be Crownsguard one day, or perhaps Kingsglaive.  Although I don’t have any skills, so I’m of no danger.”

“You wouldn’t.  You were nine.”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true.  They train Crownsguard young, normally.  Ever since Cor Leonis.”

“I never received formal training, just the grace of small lessons from various Crownsguard, sir.  My father didn’t wish for me to be one.  He didn’t want me exposed to the violence.”

“And yet, here you are.  How often are you used for violent reasons?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.  Interactions with the court and officers is not for sharing.”

Loqi huffed and went to slam back the glass he’d yet to touch, dropping his head back and leaving it there while he blindly replaced the glass to the dry sink.  He stared up at the ceiling.  What was that ball in his stomach?

“…may I ask something?” Saga asked quietly.

“What is it?”

“…is it true that Ignis Scientia is dead?”

The image of throwing that glass at the girl passed through his mind again.  And again, he didn’t act on it.  “Who told you that?”

“I’m sorry.  A couple Imperial soldiers were discussing it on the elevator as I was coming here,” she said quickly, bowing yet again, something he saw in the lowest part of his vision.

“Did you know him?” Loqi asked grimly.

“Distantly.  I barely had any real interactions with him.  He’s just… been around for as long as I can remember, and…”

“Yes, he’s dead.”  He finally lifted his head to look at her.  He then shoved off where he was leaning and walked over, grabbing her by her wrist.  She didn’t react to that, or to when he yanked her along, simply going with him quickly so she wouldn’t trip.  He dragged her along for his bedroom, and then his bathroom, where his bloodied armor laid scattered.  “There’s your evidence, if you want it,” he said, more aggressive than he intended.  As usual, he didn’t apologize for it.

“O-Oh.”

“That’s all you have to say?” he then snapped.  He didn’t know why he was getting so… angry, but to not even say a single meaningful word at that information?  Was she that stupid?  He was told the children put into her line of work were continued on a fine education to ensure they made satisfactory companions.

Saga looked worried at the way he was behaving, and she turned to him while also pressing against the doorframe.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t know what’s appropriate.”

His hands started to go up, as if he was going to grab her by the shoulders, or even the neck, but he quickly pulled them into fists and lowered them back down.  “…if you weren’t Saga the Whore, but Saga the Crownsguard, what would you say?” he asked through clenched teeth.

That made her look even more worried.  “I…”

“I won’t hurt you unless you say _nothing_.”  He’d never hurt a woman that couldn’t fight him back before, even when she was Lucian.  What was _wrong_ with him?  “What would you say if we were on the same side?”

“…that I hope the person who did it has justice delivered against them,” she whispered, watching him with wide eyes.  It seemed like if she could have pushed right through that door frame, she would have.  “That he couldn’t fight, so killing him was a coward’s reaction to something that could have been resolved another way,” she added, still frightful, still small, still whispering.  “Then I would ask if you were alright… seeing something like that… c-can’t be easy…”

Loqi stared harshly at her for the longest moment.  Too long, he realized, when her body language shifted to someone prepared for violence.  For good reason, both on her history as she told it, and his urge to lash out, so he shoved from the doorway, taking to walking to the center of his bedroom.

“Would a Lucian _truly_ care so much?” he snapped in question.  “Remember:  Honesty gets you everywhere, remember.”

“Yes.”

“Under the presumption that I, too, was a Lucian.”

“Not really.”  The answer disarmed him, and he looked at her, squinting her eyes.  She gave herself the chance to swallow hard, before pushing out of the doorway after him.  “You’re only a year or two older than I am,” she continued quietly.  “You haven’t seen the horrors an aged warrior has.  Or that we have under the Empire.  We’d ask no matter what.”

“I’m the _enemy_.”

“By King Regis’s standards, you’re a _child_.”

“You just admitted to Crownsguard being trained young!  And I’ve heard the same of the glaives!”  He was getting loud, hysterical, he didn’t know why.

And even as he yelled and became more animated, she maintained a calm demeanor, though she stayed prepared for violence in the way she stood.  “Doesn’t mean they’re not children,” she said softly.  “School is nothing but preparing children for their adulthoods… you wouldn’t expect a child aspiring to be a scientist to have already been to space, would you?  You wouldn’t expect a university student to have landed on the moon already, right?”

“…no.  I suppose not.”  Loqi stared into space for a time then, his hostility lowering at least a little.  It was a lot to digest.  “So, had the tables been turned, how do you suppose things would have panned out?”

“Likely something more like what was done with Accordo and the Empire.”  She tilted her head slightly.  “Certainly nothing like this.  Nothing even close.”  The girl was getting brazen, but he did order her honesty.  “Imagine if you had to give every part of your body as a twelve year old to a man.”

Loqi remained silent as he did, actually, attempt to imagine that.

“Imagine having to marry and bear children at fourteen.  A time when you barely understand the changes your body is going through still, and yet you’re suddenly being forced to do something that takes so much out of your body.  Something that should be beautiful, but isn’t because it isn’t what you want.  Please don’t tell me you think the loyalty and love she shows to him is genuine.”

She was referring to the Oracle.

Loqi never did get that entire situation, even though he was far too… convinced about all being just and right about the Empire to question it too much.  In school, it was taught that the marriage was a peaceful one, and that there was no need to question its legitimacy.  Age didn’t matter much, did it?

Then again, hearing it put the way Saga was, it made him think, and thinking took him aback.  How _would_ he have handled such a thing at that age?  The concept of being a father even at his age was a little unsettling, but to have to carry a child, let alone two…

“Hm,” he hummed as his eyes wandered.  The well-trained young lady stood where she was, and remained silent as he contemplated.

When he did speak again, he looked at the dark-haired girl.  “The prince has fallen.”  Even with how deeply olive her skin tone was, he could see the blood drain from her face.  “He’s alive, but only because he has to be.  How do you imagine the people will react?”

“I…  I can’t say for certain,” she replied, quiet and shell-shocked.  “I think most Insomnians won’t do anything.”

“Confidently?”

“Not really, no, but there are no whispers of rebellion within the walls,” she answered, looking to her hands.  “At least, not what I’ve heard.”

It was something for him to think about.  If Lucians’ hearts were as she described, would they really remain still when they realized the prince wasn’t being displayed as a trophy any longer?  Would they believe he was alive without a proof of life offered?

He gazed back to the bloodied armor and clothing, strewn about the bathroom floor, flashes of Ignis’s death dancing around behind his eyes.

“What is today, as the Festival of Etro?” he asked, his voice growing distant.

“The fourth day.  Last day to use body paint before switching to masks.  It’s supposed to be about being humble and giving gifts to your closest friends.  A celebration of life, since Etro may only be a day away.  It changed over the years, though.  Most people use the day to brag and to be more elaborate than the third day.  Occasionally, it would turn violent, because of the cockiness and bragging that became informally customary.”

“It could turn violent among the population?”

“Yes.  Normally, the sixth day should be the day to look at for it, but the fourth became contorted, and looks more like it.  The sixth day is for airing grievances, so that if Etro knocks, you’ve left nothing unsaid, good or bad,” Saga explained.  “Obviously, saying the things normally left unsaid can cause… tension.”

“And what is the fifth day?” Loqi asked, although he… wasn’t sure why.  He didn’t give a damn about Lucian holidays, or the Insomnian patron Astral.  It was believed it was Etro’s fault the Starscourge even existed in the first place, among Imperials.

“The fifth is the day to begin wearing masks, increasing each day in complexity.  It’s the day to honor those who have lived in the face of Etro herself.  Soldiers, police, emergency services, survivors of incidents and crimes outside of their control that should have killed them.  It’s a grand night of parties, galas, music.”

“And the last day?”

“…honoring the Lucii,” Saga replied hesitantly.  “The Lucii and the Oracle, those who sap their lives away and those who live to their dying breath to protect and heal the world.  That’s why the festival was banned.  Because people wouldn’t stop honoring them on the seventh day.”

“But part of the honor goes to the Oracle, the emperor’s wife,” Loqi pointed out, tilting his head slightly.

“None of your peers or superiors think anything of the Oracle, aside as a tool to placate the faithful,” Saga pointed out, though her tone and body language were still both demure.

“You state this as fact.”

“Sex brings loose lips,” she answered honestly.

Loqi stared at the girl for a long, silent moment.  He no longer wanted to shout at her.  He didn’t feel anger.  Empathy was an unfamiliar sensation, and one he didn’t realize went by such a name.  He was realizing more was going on that he wasn’t privy to, and he doubted Ravus knew, either.  What about Aranea?

Were people dying in vain?  Would Imperials die in vain?

“What says you on doing something for me?” he asked, his mind racing.  Saga looked up at him, baffled.  “If I can guarantee you won’t be harmed and, if you are, the one who does it faces severe consequences, will you see if you can loosen more lips and bring me more information about the men you service?”

“…I… I don’t…”

“What?  Are you worried I can’t make that happen?”  Saga didn’t respond, but the way she stared, wide-eyed, said a lot on its own.  “Then tell you what:  Give it one week.  If no one lays a hand on you in anger, will you do as I ask?”

He was starting to realize he was seeing a lot of brainwashing at play.  The girl was clearly a strong one, and smart, to be able to so clearly and concisely educate him on the land before the Empire, when she had been so young, but she still spent a long time learning her… forced craft.

“I… suppose…”  The response of someone afraid of it being a trap.  He would need to figure out exactly how to prove it wasn’t.  He was too tired, too… out of it to think of a way right at that moment.

“Go now.  Do whatever it is you do.  I’ll ensure it, and we’ll talk in a week,” he ordered, pointing to the door.

She frowned, but made the wise decision to not question it.  There was a real chance Loqi would have changed his mind with any further push back.

With her departure, he was left with his thoughts again.  It was something that crashed in on him a lot harder than he expected, coming after the things she said.  He didn’t understand why, or how, but he ended up lowering himself onto the trunk stationed at the foot of his bed, and holding his head.  Still, that image from dinner danced through his mind.  The man was just going to speak up on behalf of the prince.

That gunman had been at the ready.  Had they anticipated—no— _desired_ him to murder the steward?  Why?  He was inoffensive, and simply protective.  A key in keeping the prince under control, just as Gladiolus had been.  The friends, the brothers, alive, under watch, and remind him daily that their lives could be snuffed out at a moment’s notice.

Was it the emperor that knew?  That wished?

Or was it the chancellor?

Loqi’s loyalty to the Empire accepted the latter to be at fault.  There was no way the people who built the Empire into what it was in the present day could have possibly schemed such things; things the young commandant was realizing were terrible, devious… abusive.

Would Gladiolus and Iris be next?  Iris was the next best thing to a child of Niflheim.  They wouldn’t harm an innocent of their ilk.

…would they?


End file.
